


Brothers in Arms

by starkind



Series: Iron Wings Collection [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - War, Boys' Love, Callsigns, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Deviates From Canon, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fighter Pilots, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, IronBat - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Military Backstory, Military Jargon, Rivalry, Slow Build, Tony Swears, US Air Force, actually Bruce and most of the rest have potty mouths as well, f-16 fighting falcon, young Tony Stark and even younger Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it take to know what's worth fighting for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotch_fan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotch_fan/gifts).



> I want to gift my very first attempt at writing slash to my fellow Tony/Bruce queen hotch_fan. If it wasn't for you and your never-ending patience, reviews and encouragement I wouldn't be here, let alone have the guts to post anything. So yeah, this one's for you - I miss you a lot, btw!
> 
> Suffice to say I never watched Top Gun (only Hot Shots), so hmm, I don't know why I felt compelled to write this. Maybe because the boys would look hot in aviators and jumpsuits. Whatever. 
> 
> No native speaker here with no connections whatsoever to military institutions. I can only hope I did this whole thing justice somehow. No copyright infringement intended.

~ Prologue ~

_Dear Alfred,_

_I've been meaning to write you sooner, but things have not been going according to plan. I was supposed to be in Saudi Arabia with the 77_ _th_ _Fighter Squadron, but apparently, I'm now stuck at the local airbase in a province called Al Anbar. My job here includes flight supervision, but I hope they let me get up in the air soon. Most guys here seem to have done several tours already, but whatever - I'm not here to make friends, but to serve my country._

_Take care,  
B. W._

 

Iraq, April 1996

As soon as the doors opened, the first thing he inhaled was a mouthful of hot, sandy air.

He wiped his sleeve across his lips, grabbed the duffel bag from the floor and stepped out of the convoy. Behind him, people prodded to move along, and he complied without knowing where to go. Somehow, he had pictured his first tour overseas different as he shouldered his bag.

Al Asad airbase in western Iraq was huge. It offered accommodation for 5000 people and necessary infrastructure including public and fortified military facilities. It had its own military airport, bunkers, various shelters for personnel, equipment, fighters and military barracks. Two runways and two equally long taxi-ways were constructed to handle high-performance aircraft.

Convoys of various length moved about in the distance, and he had to watch his step as a couple of Humvees whizzed past him, undeterred. Most of the housing on base consisted of large shipping containers converted to living areas. He would come to know them as “cans”, but for the moment, the young man just tried to keep the sand from his eyes. A stern, male voice boomed from behind.

“Wayne: Report and get registered at the Headquarters, Personnel Administration Center.”

A man with a head full of dark, wavy hair mustered him when he entered. The guy was slouching in a chair whilst chewing on a toothpick. His booted feet were propped up on the desk of a red-haired woman, and he was obviously spreading it on thick while he twirled his aviator shades in one hand, making elaborate gestures with the other.

“For reals, Nat, I'm not joking here. Ask Hawkeye – Barton's gonna tell you I'm dead serious.” Unperturbed, the young woman pulled the sheet out of her typewriter and cast him a look. Bruce recognized her insignia as that of a staff sergeant when she stood up to fetch a file.

“You're the jokester of the whole squadron, IQ, nobody's going to take you seriously, even if. You're lucky you're such a good pilot and mechanic, otherwise, the Colonel would've long since kicked your notorious butt all the way from here to Syria. Feet off.” For emphasis, she lightly smacked his head to which the man huffed but shuffled into a more civilized seating position.

The Gothamite shifted from one foot to the other, feeling redundant and awkward. Eventually, though, she chose to grace him with a seizing once over and resumed her seat. “And you are?” She had a very subtle Russian accent. He cleared his throat. “Second Lieutenant Bruce Wayne from Gotham City, D. O. B. 19.02.77. I'm supposed to...”

Unfazed, the redhead cut him off by taking the documents from his hands. Her nimble fingers browsed through the copies, soon found what she was looking for and pulled another empty file from her drawer. Bruce stole a glimpse at her name tag which read N. Romanov.

“You're the new deputy flight leader. I need a copy of your last evaluation for the 201 file, hand that in later. Sign here.” She shoved his ID card and tags back over to him whilst scribbling something into a form. From the corner of his eye, Bruce saw the other man watching his every move as he bent over to recollect the items and simultaneously took her proffered pen.

“Normal duty uniform is the BDU. If you haven't been issued one: Room 149 of Building 1150. Another signature here... here... and there as well.” Obedient, Bruce followed her manicured index finger with the pen and kept on scribbling his name on each dotted line she pointed to. “I was told I'd supervise at least two combat missions a day...“

Behind him, a merry snort erupted but stopped after a stern glance from Sergeant Romanov. Her astute gray-greenish eyes seized him up, no hint of any emotion whatsoever in them. “You are scheduled for a three-day training program as of tomorrow, including base and community information and ancillary training. After that, we'll see about your combat mission, no?”

The Sergeant then fixated him with a cool glare, daring him to protest in any way. Bruce clamped his mouth shut and kept his objections to himself. Romanov's expression never wavered as she pointed her pencil at the curious looking man opposite her desk.

“Meet one of your new teammates while you're here – Captain Tony Stark. He works in maintenance and mission support groups, and he's also your flight commander. Seeing he was just about to leave anyhow, I'm sure he can show you your accommodation.”

Bruce politely extended his hand, but the other man made a dismissive gesture.  
“Nah-ah, I don't like to be handed things. Even things like hands. Nuthin personal, pal, kay?”  
Nothing left to do but to shrug, Wayne pulled back and instead shouldered his bag again.

Stark pivoted on his heel, snapped his shades back on and blew the woman at the desk a kiss. “See ya later, Sarge. Oh, and tell the Hawk to come round to my place at 0700, I wanna show him the new targeting system I made specifically for his needs.”

The two of them walked side by side through the hot stifling air in silence. Stark had shoved his hands in the pockets of his overall and whistled a casual tune around his toothpick while Wayne felt like the skin between his uniform and the duffel bag slowly melted into one another.

“So... you're new round here. Second-guessing already?”  
Bruce wiped a sleeve over his forehead and cast him a wary sideways glance.  
“No, why should I? It's what I've been trained for after all.”

A scoffing sound escaped the older man's lips.  
“Nothing's ever gonna prepare ya for this sandbox, kiddo, believe me.”  
With a disdained look on his face, Stark spit off the chewed down piece of wood.

Before Wayne had the chance to get into a lengthy discussion, Stark began to rattle off information whilst pointing into different directions. All Bruce could focus on in the scorching heat was something about outdoor and indoor swimming pools as Stark ticked off his fingers.

“...and a cinema, a library, 'course the hospital and clinic, and a post office - in case someone outside this hellhole is willing to stay in touch with you. Oh and several gyms, some fast food joints like BK, KFC, Pizza Hut and Subway, which is good cause the stuff at chow hall most of the time is literally a _mess_. And for your daily fix, there's a Beans coffee shop. Awesome, eh? If one considers this base doesn't even belong to Uncle Sam...”

Exhausted, Bruce switched his bag from one shoulder to the other. The pointless ramblings of his tour guide exasperated him, and he still did not know where he was supposed to sleep that night. When he voiced his complaint after feeling like he was walking round in circles, Stark was quick to send him off towards some buildings further up north before he excused himself.

Once the newbie from Gotham City found out Tony had sent him off to the latrines, and on top of that was still laughing himself silly when Bruce eventually located their barracks half an hour later, drenched in sweat, it kind of set the mood for their future fellowship.

To Bruce Wayne, there was no bigger ass around base than Tony Stark.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Dear Pep,_

_How ya doing over there? Packed up and ready for college? Princeton’s gonna be a piece of cake for you, I bet. Just don’t get too crazy for those intellectuals –remember I’m not too shabby either when it comes to the size of my brain (amongst other things!) Anyhoo, things are pickin up speed round here; we’re about to get up and get going soon. Oh, and some FNG’s arrived here couple’a weeks ago, one of them’s in my squad. A dweeb from Gotham – 'bout says it all._

_Drop me a line soon, sweetheart  
Your Tony the Tiger_

_PS. Rhodey says hi as well_

 

“Checkmate.”  
A sudden, sweeping gesture brushed the dirty plastic figures onto the floor.  
“Fuck it!”

The winner leaned back in his chair, an idiotic grin plastered on his face which annoyed his gaming partner even more. The gritty table creaked as the fortunate party leaned over to collect a few crumpled dollar bills. The gloomy loser slammed his palms flat on the metal. “To hell with ya, Tones! Those were my last few bucks.” He watched his opposite bend down and collect the chess pieces from the floor.  
  
In no time the white and black figures were back in place. So was that goofy grin of the other man. “’Nother round then, platypus? Try and win back some? S' almost weekend, ya know.” Lieutenant James Rhodes gave an inappropriate snort, got up and stormed through the semi-darkened room. Not caring about anything that connected with his feet he kicked against a box full of metal scraps and tools.

Alarmed, Captain Tony Stark sprang up. “HEY, my stuff! Watch where you're tripping, will ya. Man, you can be worse than the sorest loser I've ever met.” At the little dispute, one of the bunks in the dark began to move and curse at the none-too-gentle noises. Rhodes only harrumphed as he banged the creaking door to their quarter open and left; boots clomping away on the dusty ground.

The lonely player remained at the table and started drumming his fingers on the wooden chess board. He switched his attention to the blanketed heap, eyes full of annoyance. Then his expression lit up and he slapped his thighs. “Hey, Wiener – care for a game? I'm so bored I'd even checkmate you in less than five.” The blanket moved a little and two angry hazel eyes stared at him through the semi-darkness.  
  
“My name is Wayne, you _fuckhead!_ ”

Stark did not attempt to hide his shit-eating grin at the riled up youngster. Wayne then twisted around and graced the annoying Captain with his covered backside. Two seconds later, a little white chess figure landed on the blanket near his thigh. A pawn. Once more Bruce Wayne moved underneath the greasy khaki-green blanket to poke a middle finger at the other man.

“Betcha don't even know how to chess. Mommy 'n daddy made you play with dolls, Whiney?”

That got him a reaction Tony had not foreseen. Quick as lightning, the young Gothamite sprang up and all but flung himself at the man at the table. His momentum sent Stark and his chair toppling over backward, a flailing Bruce Wayne on top of him. Between cursing, punches being thrown, and scraping sounds on the metal floor, Tony and his martial arts skills eventually gained the upper hand.

He sprang to his feet and kicked the coughing man who was in a fetal position to his feet one last time, though with minimal force. “Bastard. If ya ever try something like that again, I swear I'll beat the livin' daylights outta ya.” Tony stepped back and ran two fingers over his mouth. Wayne had sucker punched him good once or twice, and he could feel his bottom lip starting to swell.  
  
With shaking legs, Wayne rose to his feet and grabbed onto the nearby table for support. “Nobody speaks about my parents like that. Especially not a piece of shit like you.” When he looked him in the eye, Tony saw determination flash on the Gothamite's face as he wiped an uncaring sleeve over the red rivulet running down his nose. They were already circling each other again, though Tony had put the table in between them.

He was torn between admiring the kid for standing his ground and pitying him for not knowing when to back down.

A different voice and different waves of energy then flooded the room. “What on earth is goin’ on in here, huh?” With a final, strong push Wayne freed himself out of the headlock Stark had on him. “Nothing, Sir, Colonel, Sir.” Colonel Fury stared at him through one eye, the other hidden behind a dark patch. “My office, in five minutes. Both of you - or I’ll have your asses grilled.”  
  
Without any further explanations, the energetic intruder slammed the door shut behind him. The two of them shoved each other one last time before Tony left the barracks without looking back. Wayne brushed the front of his khaki-green overall clean, slung the dog tags around his neck and followed Stark's retreating back through the scorching afternoon heat.

With malicious glee, Tony slammed the door shut right in front of his face. Bruce's jaw was clenched tight as he pulled it open again with force and shot daggers at the back of the shorter man's head. Seeing them assembled as ordered, Colonel Fury chose to have them remain standing as he assessed them from his chair behind his desk.

Annoying flies were humming around the broken electric fan at the ceiling, and the office stank of sweat, coffee, and sickly sweet cologne. “It’s been over a month now and you two are still having this pissing contest. I’m fed up with clowns like you around here – this is not a fucking nursery. At the earliest opportunity, I’ll have both of you transferred into Colonel Riley’s unit.”

Beside himself with bewilderment, Tony Stark began to launch an expressive tirade on the how and why he felt compelled to put Second Lieutenant Wayne in his place, but Fury cut him off. “Oh? Do I detect objections, Captain? Well, then there's another option you might consider...” When neither Stark nor Wayne spoke, Fury pulled out some documents from a drawer.

“On June 25, barracks at Khobar Towers in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia were blown up by a truck bomb. As you probably know, the local US base there housed personnel supporting Operation Southern Watch. The blast killed 19 US Air Force servicemen.” At the mention of the targeted area, Bruce inhaled audibly. Had things gone according to plan, he might have been a dead man by now as well.

Fury cast him a brief look without any kind of emotion before he focused back on Stark who still stared at him with furrowed brows.

“I want you and Wayne out there by tomorrow, simple combat air patrol, 0400 hours.”  
Both young men stared at their Colonel, mouths agape. Then Tony found his voice again.  
“Sir, with your permission, this dude is...“

The hand that slammed onto the desktop left moist traces on the cheap, hard plastic. “Dammit Stark, go ‘n tell that shit to someone else! I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I gave an order. Pick your poison now. You wanna get transferred?” Stubborn, the Captain lowered his head and mumbled a “No, Sir”, just like Wayne did when Colonel Fury glared his way; daring him to disagree.

The big black man then gave a curt nod and dismissed them with an impatient wave of the hand. Staff Sergeant Natasha Romanov, whom Tony usually exchanged some cheeky banter with, had to step aside as the two men stormed past her in raging silence and at a great distance towards each other. She cast a thoughtful stare after them before she entered her superior's office.

+++

Back at their quarters, the young Second Lieutenant sat down on his bunk without ambition to sleep anymore. One of Stark's comrades, First Lieutenant Clint Barton, had arrived and now stood leaning against the wall with arms crossed in front of his chest as Tony told him the whole story. Barton cast the young Gothamite a pissed off look which the latter ignored.  
  
“Riley’s a hinge-head like you've never seen one. Colonel must be really mad.” Tony returned his friend's glance and half-shrugged. His brow was deeply furrowed. “Can’t believe Fury wants me to fly with _him_ as my wingman; will one ever understand!” Wayne shook his head as he started digging up his few belongings from under the cot. “I don't have to put up with this fuckery either, alright!?”  
  
Barton tilted his head towards him and snorted. “So what? Ya gonna go back, crawl up Fury’s ass and get transferred, li'l butterbar?” Bruce Wayne furiously threw his bag aside and stood up, adopting a challenging stance. Stark put a hand on Barton's bicep, shook his head once and also dug for his bag under the bunk. After he had thrown it on top of the sheets, he went over to fetch his cigarettes from the table.

By accident, the black king from his chess set toppled over, rolled onto the floor and into Wayne’s direction.

Stark lit two cigarettes at once and was quick to hand one over to the First Lieutenant. None of them said anything for the next few minutes. Wayne watched them with mistrust as Tony started to blow a few idle rings into the air. “Gonna bite the dust in Riley’s squadron… incompetent mofo. I for one wanna live to get outta this hellhole sometime soon. So what’cha say, second looey - ya gonna play ball or not?”

Even if they were completely different, and lacked the ability to do anything better than to bite each other's head off, they had had no choice but to try and see what they were capable of when working with and not against each other. Wayne shrugged with an obstinate expression. "Only thing worse than working with you is licking Riley’s boots.” Stark then wolfishly grinned at his friend, to which Barton only rolled his eyes.  
  
“I hate it when you're lookin' like that, man.”  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some colorful language ahead

_Letter of Evaluation / Supplemental Evaluation Sheet, Section III  
Subject: Deployed 2_ _nd_ _Lieutenant Wayne, Bruce / D.O.B. 02/19/77_

_Displayed outstanding abilities; always going above and beyond to complete the mission. Maintains detailed written performance documentation and displayed strong analytical skills. His knowledge and troubleshooting skill made him a valuable asset to this facility. However, Wayne possesses a self-destructive demeanor, is difficult to communicate with and oftentimes erratic in his behavior. Needs improvement in peer communications. Displays a remarkable lack of enthusiasm due to personal problems._

_Lt. Col. Travis J. Brabec, 25_ _th_ _March 1996_  
_347th Recruiting Squadron_

Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes watched his commander read the few lines on the paper he had presented him with. Behind Fury, vice commander Colonel Coulson stood, impassive as always, and fixated Rhodes with an unwavering glare. Eventually, Fury put the report down and eyed the other black man. “What is it you're trying to prove to me here, Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes?”  
  
James Rhodes stood a little more at attention and inhaled. “I'm just saying that putting Second Lieutenant Wayne as Captain Stark's wingman is...” Nick Fury; bald, and intimidating even in a sitting position, narrowed his remaining eye at him. “... reckless? Foolish? Idiotic? I am commanding a wing consisting of over 2000 airmen on this base, Lieutenant-Colonel, and you're questioning a direct order?”

Feeling backed into a corner, Rhodes tried to amend his position.

He uncrossed his arms and lessened his grip on his beret, trying to appear relaxed. Fury never so much batted his eyelid. “With all due respect, Colonel, as the squadron commander in the operations-, mission- and maintenance group, it is my duty to inform you I am under the impression Second Lieutenant Wayne does not yet seem experienced enough without dissimilar air combat training.”

Fury handed the report over his shoulder to Coulson, who took it without any facial reaction.  
“Objection noted, Lieutenant-Colonel. Stark and Wayne leave tomorrow at 0400. Dismissed.”  
James Rhodes held his glance for another split second, saluted and left the office.

+++

After some restless and too little sleep, Bruce rose at 3:15 AM and got ready for his upcoming mission.

Stark was nowhere in sight, a fact he welcomed. He shivered underneath his overall in the cold desert night as he marched over to the two designated two F-16 machines on the tarmac. In the distance, a lone silhouette stood out against the floodlights. Stark was fixing something on his aircraft and did not seem to notice him. Wayne got into his cockpit without so much of a greeting and balanced his helmet in his lap.

Soon after, a ground crew member also climbed up to him and manually fixed the last settings. When the ladders had been removed and ground crew wore ear protection, both Tony and Bruce slipped on their helmets and lowered the canopies. The motor sound vibrated inside the small cabin as Bruce turned on the switches for battery and jet fuel starter.

As soon as lights blinked green, he unlocked throttle and went through the motions of aligning the inertial navigation and performed his pre-flight checks. Two ground control members made sure all flaps and ailerons worked without a hitch as Bruce took a last sweeping glance at the oil pressure, nozzle position and RPM gauges. To his left, two lights went out on the side panel, indicating the aircraft was all clear on engine start.

While Bruce went through all of the processes with as minimal conversation as possible, Stark kept on chatting over the comm with mission control as if he was in a drive-thru. Wayne rolled his eyes as he turned on lights and navigation and waited for the green lettering to appear. Once 'RDY' flashed on the screen to his right, the multifunction display came up and his HUD sprang to life. 

Stark finished just mere moments earlier and put his jet in motion; waving and cheering to the personnel outside. The Captain then gave a final thumbs up when he passed the tower, and as if on cue, a familiar voice reached their ears. “Check six, Tones, you hear me?” Underneath his helmet, Tony smirked and pressed a few buttons to his left. "Will do, platypus. Gonna play it balls to the wall. See ya later."

Stark’s jet gained velocity and Bruce followed him up into the sky.

No sooner than they were 40,000 feet in the air, the flight leader barrel-rolled around Wayne’s aircraft, and Bruce saw the jet’s wings gleam in the rising sun, missing his vessel only by a hairsbreadth. “Well, Wheeny, it's gonna be just like your dollar ride with me today. Like your very first time in a Viper even. Enjoy it while you can, it's highly unlikely I'll ever fly with you by choice again.”

Bruce adjusted his mask and re-gripped the control stick next to his right thigh. The Captain’s attitude was even harder to bear when there was no way to escape his prattling; other than just to shoot him out of the sky, Wayne darkly mused. When he chose to stay silent, Tony began to perform outlandish maneuvers solely to rile him up and demonstrate his abilities.  
  
“More of those colorful actions and you're running on vapor sooner than you can say uncle.”  
Glad to have provoked at least one reaction, Stark cackled in his earpiece.  
“Don’t get all beaded up, Wheewhee, I'm always comin out on top, keep that in mind.”  
  
After being airborne for little more than half an hour, ground control rustled in their speakers.  
“We have an unknown aircraft. Vector 090 and coming at you at two 'clock, 20 miles.”  
Both stopped bickering and checked their navigational systems. Bruce heard Stark whine.

“Aw man, not a sight for sore eyes this morning.”  
The Gothamite felt his heart rate increasing. They were still miles away from their target zone.  
He pulled the nose of his F-16 up into a steeper incline. Mission control was loud in his ear.

“IQ, your bogey is a bandit, repeat: Bogey is a bandit!”  
Tony pulled a face. He pressed the intercom button next to his throttle.  
“Ya, ya, ya, platypus, I'm not deaf. Talk to me, Rhodey.”

He then flipped a switch and looked at his radar as the Lieutenant-Colonel rattled off information. “Affirmative, I got him. 900 knots closure. Nothing like a fuckin MIG to make my day. Better buckle up, Waynster, it might get bumpy on this ride after all.“ Bruce licked his dry lips and switched between checking both monitors to his left and right. “Shouldn't we try to disengage? Target zone is still...”  
  
A loud exasperated groan cut right through his objections. “Geez Wiener, Sierra Tango, Foxtrot Uniform over there, alright? Goddamn backseat driver, I swear I'll speak to Eyepatch bout this - Rhodey, why do I have to put up with this shit again?” Before Bruce had time to form a proper retort, ground control obtained more information.

“Two more bandits approaching, 5 miles. Get your asses outta there, Tones!”  
Again the voice belonged to Rhodes. The Lieutenant Colonel sounded unusually agitated.  
“Okay, now my fun meter's definitely pegged, shitfuck.”  
  
Stark's voice lost any of its whining undertones. Eyes on the HUD, he gnawed at his bottom lip.  
“Wayne – you ever been in a dogfight with a MIG before?”  
“Negative.”  
  
Tony repressed another mouthful of curses and prepared himself for the worst.  
“Stay at my back at all costs. Disengagement maneuvers only, don't pull off shit there, clear?”  
The first run-in with the enemy aircraft gave Bruce a hearty dose of what to expect.

The MIG fighters were fast and tried to put them into a defensive position. They succeeded in separating Wayne from his flight leader, leaving Stark in a vulnerable spot. The Captain was quick to go into a series of tactical flight maneuvers, trying to gain back some ground. “He's coming round on our tail! Do I have permission to fire?” Indecision weighted heavily on Bruce's overcharged nerves.  
  
The split-second in which his M61 Vulcan cannon would have had perfect target lock passed away unused. “I lost him in the sun! Shit, what's he doing? You got him, Stark?“ Wayne squinted, angry at himself, slammed his visor shut and dove down to reappear on the left. He craned his neck, tendons snapping from movement, and ground his teeth.

“NO, goddamn it! This bogey's all over me. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”  
Stark's F-16 then came into vision as the Captain barreled in a 180-degree spin to his right.  
Bruce blinked against the stinging sweat that started to delude his vision.

“Turn right - I'm gonna try and get them off your back!”  
Tony bellowed in his ear; earlier cockiness gone once he realized the gravity of the situation.  
“Got two of them on my tail – I'm in deep shit! What the hell, Wayne, cover me you little fuck!”

The Captain still managed to gain the upper hand and went one-on-one with the enemy MIG. Although Wayne tried to match him as good as possible, the intense pressure took a hold on him and his performance. From the corner of his eye, he then saw Stark's jet take a hit. Horrified, Bruce watched as Tony dumped the canopy, the seat ejecting no split second later.  
  
“We lost Stark, we lost Stark!”  
  
Not careful enough, Bruce then got caught within the jet wash of Stark's remaining aircraft. Everything inside his cockpit started beeping and blinking almost instantly. Frantic, the Gothamite heard his own heavy breathing over the wire as ground control tried to talk him down. All systems were unresponsive, and he felt his stomach give a lurch at being completely and utterly defenseless.

"I have a flameout of both engines! I cannot get them to recover!”  
At ground base, Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes switched between two monitors.  
"Wayne entered a flat spin. He's going down! EJECT! EJECT! EJECT!” 

Ultimately Bruce was forced to do as mission control yelled in his ear and pressed the button.  
The air rushed all around and hit him like a forceful punch to the head, almost knocking him out.  
His body tumbled on for a few yards until the parachute eventually caught his free fall.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Pepper,_

_I wanted you to hear it from me rather than from anybody else. As of last night, Tony officially is missing in action. His jet got shot down somewhere across the Saudi Arabian border; so far no bodies have been found. He was with another pilot, so chances are they might still be alive. Rest assured I won't stop looking for him until I found him. I will contact you asap._

_Best,  
Jim_

 

“NO. Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes, I have to insist...”  
Colonel Fury looked up from his screen as Natasha Romanov's voice was loud outside his door.  
“Sorry, Sergeant Romanov, but this one's urgent.”

The door swung open and Nick Fury stared into two angry faces. He was quick to indicate his trusted officer he would handle the interference himself. Natasha Romanov closed the door behind them, but not after gracing the intruder with a stern, reproachful glare.

“You do realize how very close to disobedience you are at the moment, Lieutenant-Colonel?”  
James Rhodes held the one-eyed stare of his superior, dauntless.  
“Yes, Sir, I believe I do.”

Before Fury had the chance to elaborate on his unspoken threat, the other man concluded.  
“Captain Stark is reported MIA since 0445 this morning, together with 2nd Lieutenant Wayne.”  
At the mention of the other man, Rhodes' voice took on a scornful undertone.

“So I've been informed.”  
Fury did not offer anything else and stapled his fingers in front of his face. Rhodes nodded.  
“The Captain is one of my best friends, and I will not stop looking for him until he's found.”

Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes never looked back after he left Fury's office. The fact that the Colonel let him concede without any interruption or disciplinary actions spoke volumes.

+++

Bruce came to from where he had landed non-too-gentle on his left side when something sharp tugged at his body.

After he hinged up the visor of his helmet, he realized his nylon parachute was getting caught by gusts of wind, dragging him along the vast desert area. Coughing against micro-fine particles of sand in his throat, he rolled on his back and freed himself from the straps attached to his body. With shaking fingers he pried off the parachute pack survival kit from the harness; a small box within a cloth sleeve the size of a candy bar.

The young Lieutenant got onto his knees and eyed his surroundings. Half expecting to be looking into the muzzles of Iraqi freedom fighters or enemy soldiers, Wayne was relieved to find himself alone for the moment. No, not alone. Twenty yards away was an unmoving heap Bruce soon identified as the body of Tony Stark. The Captain was partly hidden underneath his parachute, its white color shimmering in the heat.

Quick to scramble to his feet, Wayne gathered the masses of fabric under his arm and started into the direction of his comrade. A stinging pain erupted once he put weight on his right foot, but he hobbled onwards undeterred. As soon as he had reached the lifeless body, Wayne dropped to the ground next to Stark and freed him from the confines of tangled cords and fabric.

He lifted the other man's oxygen mask and visor and took off his own helmet to lean in close for any signs of breathing. Tony’s eyes remained closed, but Bruce was able to make out faint respiration signs. With care he slowly turned Stark onto his back, only to frown at the dark red splotches that were seeping through the front of the Captain’s overall.

Bruce eyed the broken glass of his chronograph. He knew there had to be a compass inside the survival kit, but he needed to get Stark and himself out of the scorching sun first before either of them would suffer a heat stroke. The last intel he had gathered right before his crash was they were somewhere in a province called Muthanna, a vast, sparsely populated area dominated by desert.

The Gothamite blinked against a wave of nausea and dizziness and squinted around once more. Several yards away, a rugged landscape towered, and Bruce made up his mind. Careful not to aggravate Stark’s condition any further, he wrapped him into his parachute, slung the ends of the nylon ropes over his non-aching shoulder and trotted off into the direction of possible shelter.

As long as the ground was sandy desert, the Gothamite made good time and progress, dragging the other man’s body along behind him. A couple of times, Bruce dropped to his knees from exhaustion and thirst but managed to make it into the relative safety of the huge, rocky landscape. When he was unable to pull Tony further along on the uneven ground, Bruce bodily picked him up and carried him into the shadows.

By that time, Stark was breathing shallowly, perspiration glistened all over his face and leaving little rivulets through the sheen of dust there. Bruce wished to be able to rid him of his suffocating helmet as well, but unless he could be sure the other man had not suffered any serious head injury, it needed to stay on. "I’m gonna go looking for a place to stay, be right back.”

Bruce murmured along as he spread out the parachute around the unconscious man, taking some comfort in hearing his own voice at least. He freed his upper body from the sweat-soaked overall to reveal an equally dripping t-shirt underneath. Red scraping marks on his shoulder stung when he touched them, from where the parachute strings had cut deep into his flesh.

With a final wipe across his forehead, he began to examine his surroundings.

Being a skilled climber, Wayne soon found several holes throughout the cliff scenery; none of them suited to fit two grown men, however. Disheartened he descended again until his eyes spotted a cleft no ten feet away from his current position. As soon as Bruce found it to be spacious enough on first sight, he climbed back to where Tony lay, head lolled to the side, and ever so gently scooped him up in his arms.

Stark was heavy, and Wayne almost fell over backward trying to carry him towards the cave. All of his muscle strands protested at once against the strain, but Bruce gritted his teeth and made it over on his last energy reserves. After he had lowered the Captain to the ground, cocooned inside his parachute, Bruce dropped to his hands and knees and began to dry-heave for a couple of seconds, limbs shaking violently.

When his body complied again after five minutes, he pulled out his own crumpled parachute from where he had stuffed it inside his overall and cast it aside. His deft fingers then pried Stark's own survival kit off, opened both packs and put all their contents in order. Each kit held a tactical survival blanket, one which he was going to wrap around Tony's shivering form, later on, when the temperatures would drop.

There were some water purification tablets and three whirl pak bags of water in total. Bruce knew their current supply would not last them for too long, seeing he already felt thirsty beyond belief and had to use some of the liquid to try and wash out Stark's wounds. He inspected the scout fire steel, striker, and two wet fire tinder packs as well as the base plate compass he was aiming for.

A photon red lens LED with SOS beacon mode and an infrared chemlight to last three hours were put aside for later. Bruce then breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the bleeding stopper gauze pad, but gritted his teeth when there was only one per kit. A fishing and sewing kit, some smallish saw and razor, aluminum foil, different wire, Kevlar cord, and tape completed his yield. 

The Gothamite shook his tired head a couple of times, trying to stay focused. He needed to examine and tend to Stark’s injuries, get them something to drink and set up a fire for the potentially freezing night in the desert they were about to sit through. As soon as Bruce had prepared a bag of water he took some greedy gulps, relishing the feel of the cool liquid running down his parched throat.

Immediately after, he moved over to the injured man and gently began to try and open the zipper of the blood-stained overall. Stark’s chest was a gory mess; parts of the F-16’s nose or wing must have exploded right in front of him before he had been able to eject, wedging themselves into the unprotected part of his torso. Without further ado Wayne set to work, rinsing out the bleeding wound and applying a gauze pad.

At some point, he cut off the least dirty parts of his own overall to have some more fabric to wrap around Stark's chest.

When night fell, Bruce fumbled around with the fire steel and striker until he produced his first real bonfire. Though he was exhausted beyond belief, he tried to focus on a plan. Tomorrow he would scout the surroundings, use the compass and find out if it was safe enough to signal for potential rescue by putting out one of their parachutes in combination with the LED beacon and chemlight.

Bruce's eyes came to rest upon Stark's quiet form next to the idly burning fire. Maybe he needed to check for vegetation as well, to find something akin to firewood in case their tinder packs would run short faster than expected. His retinas burned, and Wayne felt his eyelids grow heavy. His last conscious thought was a sincere hope and prayer for no unpleasant surprises like poisonous animals, wolves or the like in their cave.

Even when he did fall into a light doze, Bruce kept a hand on the small saw all the time.

+++

Whilst the pain tortured him in an awakened state of mind, the delirious nightmare Tony experienced was almost as intense and moreover surreal.

He found himself standing on a wooden bridge high up in the air which smelled like a mixture of ashes and salt. Deep down below, water roared in an angry cacophony, colored in shades of purple and blue. He glanced up into the sky and saw the sun and the moon next to each other, taking up the whole place. Looking around for someone to share this strange experience with, Tony saw an unmoving figure at the end of the bridge.

He frowned as his instinct told him to move towards the stranger, even though his mind reasoned him to be careful. However, the bridge suddenly began to extend and grow longer, pushing the person even more out of his reach than before. A gnawing feeling settled down in Tony’s gut. He started to walk faster, but the bridge seemed to match his pace.

A voice then filled the air. It came from the person Tony was able to identify as James Rhodes, even without being able to properly see his countenance. Not understanding the words in the first place, Tony Stark erupted in a run. The bridge consequently gained in length once again, and he soon was drenched in sweat. He sank to his knees, exhausted, and opened his mouth to yell at his friend to wait for him.

A crashing sound from behind made him turn around and panic at once. As fast as the wooden planks spread out anew in front of him, the path behind him started to crumble and fall into the now gurgling water torrent underneath, like a game of domino bricks. Frantic, Tony pushed himself to his feet and sped away from the void that was chasing him, whirling away the solid planks like toothpicks.

Sweat stung his eyes and he blinked hard to focus on Rhodes who did not come to his aid and just stood there, watching. When his energy faded, Tony stumbled and again landed hard on the wooden ground. One glance over his shoulder showed how the falling planks had almost reached him. He reached out towards Rhodes one last time and was flabbergasted to catch a direct glimpse into the hazel eyes of Bruce Wayne instead.

The Gothamite opened his mouth, but Tony was unable to hear the words...

“Shh, be quiet. You're safe.”  
  
Distant mumbling from his right. Clammy fingers on his forehead.  
  
“Rh'dey?”  
Wayne narrowed his eyes and took his hand away to grasp for the near-empty water pak instead.  
“Here, drink.”  
  
A rivulet dribbled down Tony's cheek and trickled off into the dusty ground. Tony pried his eyes open with great effort, and all he saw was darkness. The air around him was cool and musty. Flaming hot pain erupted from his chest and he made a move to touch the searing area. His fingertips felt sticky as they brushed against some wrapping or rags.

“Fuck, h'rts.”

Before Captain Stark got fully aware of the person crouching next to him, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out once more.

+++

At some point during the early morning hours, Bruce left the cave after making sure Stark’s condition had not worsened overnight. The Captain was still unresponsive, but Bruce was grateful the bleeding had not increased. His own body ached all over, but he sipped some water and got to his feet. Outside, the sun was not up to its full force yet, and he relished the fairly cool breeze that whipped at his stringy hair.

Bruce jammed the ragged parachute under his arm and scaled the rocky ledges until he was able to drape the fabric over a boulder. He knew the risk of getting spotted by the enemy was just as big as getting found by the search party, which hopefully was on their way to rescue them, but without any more supplies, they would be dead soon anyway.

High up the mountain, Bruce then spotted something from afar, moving into their direction. As soon as he had identified it as a caravan of Bedouins that herded camels, he pondered his options. Surrendering to them was too dangerous, they might hand him and Stark over to the Iraqis in the blink of an eye. So Wayne kept on watching them, trying to figure out the route the five men were about to take and went into ambush mode.

With his heart in his mouth, he was able to approach the unsuspecting Bedouins, stole some bag and a water container made out of goat skin and fled, unnoticed. When he returned to their hideout, Tony Stark was semi-conscious for the second time since their crash. Bruce immediately inspected his haul and presented two loaves of black seed bread and about half a gallon of cold water.

He supplied his wounded comrade with more water and tried to offer him pieces of bread. Stark's large, dark brown eyes searched his countenance as if trying to understand what happened and what was going on. It was highly possible that the Captain was suffering from a concussion as well, but there seemed to be no whiplash injuries or the like.

"Try not to move too much, you took quite a hit.”  
Dumbfounded, Tony slowly gazed to his chest, then back up at Bruce.  
"Wh're we?”

He avoided the food in Bruce's hand and instead just swallowed painfully slow.  
"Province of Muthanna, somewhere close the border of Kuwait maybe.”  
Head heavy, the mechanic leaned it back against the makeshift cushion Wayne had made.

“F'ckin hell.”  
Stark’s face was pale and he squeezed his eyes shut. Bruce tried to exude optimism.  
“They’re gonna send someone soon, we just have to make sure they’ll find us.”

Tony tried to muster up a laugh but it died on his lips as he felt as if he was about to throw up.  
“’n if not? We’re gonna die here, pal, jus’ like that.”  
Devastated, the younger man looked away, mouth pressed into a grim line.

“As long as Rhodes is in command, they’ll keep on looking.” Bruce’s tone was determined if a bit defiant. The older man said nothing and soon after drifted off into another slumber. The Gothamite munched on some of the quite dry and stale bread before he, too, rested his exhausted body as the unforgiving midday heat burned outside.

+++

Night fell, and it was the first time Tony was awake. The pain in his chest and the rattling noise of his lungs whenever he tried to breathe made him blink the cave into focus. Eventually, his eyes came to rest upon the sleeping form of the young Gothamite. Through the flickering flames of the fireplace, Tony watched how Bruce lay on his side, dirty cheek pressed into the crook of his arm and strands of hair all over his face.

Howling noises from outside caught his attention, and a small part in Tony’s pain-riddled mind registered them as an approaching desert storm. Commotion inside their cave also began to erupt; an odd, scrabbling sound from high above. When he tried to twist his head, the pain in his chest flared up again and Tony could not help but to groan out loud. In an instant, Wayne's eyes snapped open and he sat up.  
  
“What? What's wrong?”

Wheezing Stark just pointed upwards and Bruce followed his line of view. They both realized for the first time they were sitting underneath a horde of bats. About 20 feet up, at the cave’s ceiling, the sensitive hearing animals seemed to get agitated because of the weather condition outside, flapping their wings and making high-pitched screeches.

Bruce closed his eyes and fought against a sudden bout of nausea and panic. A curious Tony mustered him. "Not quite the animal lover, eh? Could’ve been worse – spiders… snakes…” Wayne forced his eyes open again and grimaced. "I hate bats with a passion.” Seeing Stark was not able to fall asleep again, and feeling uncomfortable with the animals above, Bruce reluctantly began to talk.

He talked about his fall into a well as a kid, and about how a horde of bats had attacked him as he lay there, arm broken and scared as hell before he was found an hour later. A bittersweet smile played around the corners of his mouth when Bruce remembered his father's words on why people fell. At that, Tony Stark snorted ever so slightly.

"My father never cared. Fell off a tree once, broke my clavicle. All he said was 'Anthony, you should've paid better attention. Stop crying, Stark men are made of iron.' Yeah, thanks, dad.” The Gothamite shuffled and tried to get the fire to light anew. “He's probably quite proud of you now, being in the air force and all.” He kept on stealing glances up towards the ceiling, as if willing the animals above to stay put.  
  
“If he wasn't dead for five years, he might've been, yeah. Unlikely, though.”  
When Bruce made a clumsy effort to apologize, Tony waved him off.  
“Why'd you enlist, Wayne?”  
  
Bruce poked at the meager glowing bonfire with a stick he had found outside their cave.  
“To get away from my parents' legacy. Would've been doomed to wear business suits till I die.”  
The elder man stifled a painful yawn and adjusted his head.  
  
“How did you sell them you like wearing BDU's better?”  
When the younger man lowered his head, Tony was unable to look at his face anymore.  
“They died when I was eight.”

Mutual silence erupted until Wayne raised his eyes and regarded his companion. He was squeezing his eyes and mouth shut with a pained expression, so Bruce cleared his throat. Tony's eyes sprang open. “And what about you?” A tired smirk tried to worm its way on Stark's lips. “My old man used to built weapons for WWII. A goddamn hero of the nation if you will.”

Bruce nodded along. He had learned about the Starks and their influence in history class. Tony swallowed once, shifted with a grimace, and licked chapped lips. “He 'n I never got along well, so after really pissing each other off in 1990, I decided to make his vision of me being the biggest disappointment in his life come true and got enlisted at the 138th ATS.”

“ATS?”  
At Bruce's clueless look, Tony had to smile a little.  
“A unit of New York's Air National Guard 174th Attack Wing, located at Hancock Field Air Base.”

Even though Wayne supplied a proactive murmur, his reaction made it clear he had no idea what Stark was talking about. In a way Tony found it endearing; the gap in age and experience between them prevalent once more. "'N you? Where've you been, apart from living under a rock in Gotham City?“ Bruce overlooked the jibe because of reasons and plucked at a tear in his overall.  
  
“347th Recruiting Squadron, located in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Knights of the North.”  
  
When Tony could not help but snort, Bruce's eyes bore into his skull, indignant. The elder man then had to press a hand on his hurting torso and forced himself to stop sniggering. “Easy there, rookie, I'm not making fun of ya. Just why on earth did they send you over here?” Still miffed, the Gothamite crossed his arms in front of his chest and avoided eye contact.

“Cause I can fly. And I'm the best from all of Illinois, Iowa, Michigan, and Wisconsin combined.”  
Tony gave a raspy chuckle. His chest started to hurt real bad once again.  
“And you're quite a hothead, too.”

His fingers groped blindly for the water pak a few feet away. Wayne got up to help him out, and his abrupt movement caused the agitated animals above them to erupt in fight or flight response. In true flocking behavior, they descended from the ceilings as a black mass of wings and echolocation sounds. With no way out, Bruce Wayne did something he would always think back upon as a kneejerk reaction to his childhood fears.

Focused on protecting Stark and himself, he grabbed Tony's unused parachute and wrapped it around his head and shoulders, almost like a massive cape. Arms spread wide, he rustled and moved towards the bats, moving the nylon fabric as forceful as he could. From his position on the ground, Tony watched him standing tall amidst the horde of bats, scaring the skittish animals out of the cave.

Much later Tony would tell him how, in his feverish haze, he had seen Bruce spread his own bat wings that night, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of animals.

+++

The next morning, sounds of an approaching medivac chopper were like music to the young Lieutenant's ears.

Less than thirty minutes after Bruce had climbed out of their cave and used the second to last set of the photon red lens LED and the infrared chemlight, two mighty UH-60 black hawk helicopters landed in close proximity to their location. While Captain Stark was strapped on a gurney, Bruce Wayne denied being put in horizontal and crawled into the back of the helicopter after him, eyes locked firmly on the soles of Stark's feet.

Two medics hovered around, about to set an IV into Tony's vein. When the Captain stretched out his other arm, Bruce squeezed past the crew and leaned in closer. “Thanks for savin' my ass out there... Batmaster.” Tony's voice was heavy as the IV medication set in, and Bruce watched his eyelids droop. He fell short on an answer when the medics pushed him back to his seat and began to administer fluids to his dehydrated body.

He was halfway asleep when they reached Al Asad base later on.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Gotham City, July 1996_

_Dear Master Bruce,_

_When I received the message you had been missing in action, I refused to believe the news. You cannot imagine how utterly grateful I was upon hearing you lived and would be back safe and sound. I dearly hope and pray to be able to welcome you home sometime soon._

_Heartfelt regards,_  
_A. Pennyworth_

 

The paper wrinkled inside Bruce's sweated palms as he sat in one of the hard plastic chairs of the Combat Support Hospital and stared into nothingness. He had been diagnosed with minor dehydration, a sprained ankle, sunburn, and an inflamed left shoulder, but otherwise been discharged after a day. Instead of sleeping and resting, however, Wayne had stayed right there, waiting.

Tony Stark had been summoned into a three-hour surgery session right after they had been brought in, with two doctors about to patch him up as good as possible. Bruce swallowed and stared down at the letter of his family's butler once again. The text became blurry the longer he focused on it, and he took a deep breath. Squeaking footsteps on linoleum then got his attention, and Bruce raised his head.

Lieutenant-Colonel James Rhodes stood in the doorway and regarded him with something in between revulsion and pity.  
For a moment, Wayne thought the other man might lash out at him.

“He's out of surgery.”  
Staggering, Bruce rose out of the chair.  
“How is he?”

Rhodes crossed his arms in front of his chest. “God knows how many screws are holding his ribcage together with steel plates by now. He has to live with them for the rest of his life. He's lucky to still be able to fly, let alone breathe.” The Gothamite heaved a shuddering sigh and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. James' eyes narrowed with undisguised dislike.

“I don't know why, but he's been asking for you. You've got five minutes.”  
  
Rhodes' eyes stayed cold as ice, even as Wayne cast him a surprised glance. The Lieutenant-Colonel had been the first to see his best friend right after he woke. Tony had been too medicated and drowsy for any coherent conversation, and James hated having to deal with the human failure who had put him in that position. With a final, hostile glance back, Rhodes slipped his beret back on and left the waiting room.

+++

“Hey.”

Tired brown eyes blinked and took him in.  
Tony made a come closer move with his head, to which Bruce stepped inside and shut the door behind him.  
A single, rickety chair was in the room, and he pulled it closer to the bedside.

“Hey yourself, Batmaster.”

Wayne cast him a thin-lipped smile. It vanished when he saw the pinkish spots shimmering through the many gauze bandages around Tony's upper body. Stark followed his line of view and glimpsed down his wrapped torso. Then he formed a lopsided smirk. “There goes bikini season for me this year, eh?” Thankful for his way of trying to ease the situation, Bruce leaned forward and placed both elbows on his thighs.

For a moment, he just sat and rubbed his palms together.  
“Does it hurt?”  
Tony slowly negated his head.  
  
“Only when I laugh. Not likely to happen with you around, sourpuss.” Bruce cast a downward stare and inspected his dirty boots. There was some slight shuffling from the bedside as Tony tried to shift into another, more comfortable position. “'M a li'l fuzzy round the edges. Don' remember if I already said thanks or not. Did I?” Incredulous hazel eyes and a furrowed brow stared back at him.  
  
“For what? For getting you here in the first place? Fuck yeah, you're welcome, I guess.”  
As soon as he had blurted out the words, Bruce clamped his mouth shut.  
“Cool it, hothead, you didn't shoot me down, kay? Foolin' round up there's been my fault.”  
  
When the Gothamite did not respond, Tony licked dry lips and swallowed.  
“But if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here at all, so... thanks. Take it, I won't say it again.”  
Stark's voice started to slur and Wayne's lip curled with moderate amusement.  
  
“If it makes you feel better – okay, you _do_ owe me one for that, Iron Chest.”  
Unceremoniously Tony rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated groan.  
“Li'l fucker. Be thinkin' bout you every damn time I'll try to pass a metal detector from now on.”

Tony's cocky attitude had returned right after the anesthetics had worn off.  
Bruce was not sure how they would ever manage to get along under normal circumstances.  
Before he could get up and leave, there was a hand on his forearm, holding him in place.

“Reminds me of which: You've been missing one.”  
Unsure what Tony meant, Bruce narrowed his eyes.  
“Missing what?”

“A callsign. Now you got one. Batmaster. Uh, nah, too long. Batboy. Eh, not quite. Bats. Yeah, Bats. I like that. Bats it is. Consider yourself baptized by the church of Stark.” It hit Wayne just how heavily medicated Tony Stark in fact still was, talking more nonsense than usual. The latter then yawned loudly, and the Gothamite fought against a small smile on his lips.

He stretched his own, aching body and rolled a stiff set of shoulders, cracking his neck in the process. “Get some more rest, I'll see ya tomorrow, okay?” Tony watched his every move through sleepy eyes, and Bruce patted the area where he assumed his calves to be. Stark then raised his hand and gave him a lopsided thumbs up.

“F'sure, 'm here. Bye, Bats.”

+++

Four weeks after their return, Tony was still in DNIF status -duties not including flying- as determined by Doctor Banner.

During his recuperation, all of his friends had to listen to him spinning the tale of his new call sign, as Stark had gone from 'IQ' to 'Iron' in a heartbeat. Of course, Tony was never shy to show off the newly obtained scars on his chest either. Ever since he had been discharged from sickbay, however, Bruce had kept a respective distance towards him.

Rumor around base had it, the whole incident was due to Wayne's half-assed airborne behavior and his shitty, basic flying maneuvers. In result, the Gothamite had been summoned for flight physiology training; a recurrent safety training directed at emphasizing physiological stressors. A team of officers and specialists had also been assigned to investigate their aircraft incident; not to assign blame, but to prevent future mishaps.

Even though Tony himself vehemently tried to nix any misconceptions in front of his comrades, the collective scapegoat had been found in their eyes, and it was Bruce Wayne. The latter chose not to elaborate on the topic and kept to himself instead. He picked up a vigorous exercise routine in one of the many gyms around base and let out all of his frustration and anger issues on dumbbells and weight plates.

Although the board of inquiry officially cleared him of responsibility after two weeks, Bruce Wayne still refrained from going up into the air and continued to focus on organizing squadron meetings, flight schedules, and all things administrative around base. He also made sure to avoid Tony and the rest of the squadron as good as possible; either getting up a lot earlier, headed for the gym, or staying out late until everybody was asleep.

After a week, during which Tony had unsuccessfully tried to rope Bruce into hanging out with him, the mechanic then resorted to rather unfair practices to get a hold of the younger man. His manipulations caused Wayne to experience a severe technical failure of his F-16 during a system test run, forcing him to seek help from the person he had been trying hard to avoid.

A nervous and subdued Bruce Wayne entered Tony's workshop one Wednesday evening after 6 PM and found Stark knee-deep in the remains of an exploited engine. Sweated and greasy from motor oil, in faded dungarees and a dirty wifebeater, Tony was surrounded by a small group of his friends. They all had their backs on him and were chatting at an amicable sound level.

Unnoticed, the Gothamite mustered them from afar.

There was Captain Steve 'Freedom' Rogers; the tall, muscular blonde whom Bruce had never taken a liking to. Something was fishy about the way he looked at Tony when he thought no one else was looking. Tony, however, never seemed to mind or to realize. Next to him, First Lieutenant Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton sprawled on a chair and sipped on a Pepsi. Ever since his hearing got busted on a mission, he was more erratic than before.

Bruce was about to turn on his heel and back out of the workshop when Tony spotted him.  
“Hey! Waynster! Surprise, surprise! C'mon in – wassup?”  
He could feel all eyes on him and very well heard the small groan Barton gave.  
  
“No, it... can wait, really.”  
  
Tony threw his screwdriver back into a toolbox and jogged after him. His hand was warm on Bruce's forearm as he stopped him. “Why don't'cha join us for coupl'a drinks? Soft ones only, Steve's gotta mission later on.” Brown eyes darted in between hazel ones for a second. His oil-stained fingers left marks on Bruce's skin as he dragged him back over to the others.  
  
The Gothamite chose to remain standing in respectable distance to Rogers and crossed his arms. An uncomfortable silence erupted until Tony turned up the small multi-band radio in the corner up and began to whistle along. Bruce watched him work for a while, mesmerized by the way the muscles in his arms moved as Stark took the old engine block apart with care and precision.

“Well, Wayne, what is it you need to have fixed?”  
  
Rogers' voice sounded brash as he handed Stark a pair of pliers. Barton took another sip of his drink and grinned along. Feeling awkward, Bruce stared down. “My... HOTAS somehow doesn't work properly. Something with the targeting seems wrong.” Tony's mouth curved into an impish line, its corners twitching. “Oh, rest assured your hot ass totally works for me, cupcake, so to speak.”

When Tony even had the audacity to wink at him, Bruce bit down hard on his bottom lip as his cheeks began to flush red. Without a word he turned and stormed off. Over the roaring sound of Rogers' and Barton's laughter, he did not even care that Tony called after him a couple of times.

+++

"Another one, sonny?“

When Bruce gave a glum nod, the barkeeper shoved a new bottle of beer across the counter, albeit not without a faint hint of skeptical amusement. Upon seeing the distress on the man's face, he had not even asked the Gothamite for an ID. Eyes hidden behind bangs almost too long to be called military standard, Wayne just stared at the Corona label.

Around him, The Jet Fuel was slowly starting to fill with its regular crowd of after-work officers and the occasional newbie here and there. Springsteen’s ‘Tougher Than the Rest’ resounded in the background, but Bruce paid his name twin no mind. The way Tony and his gang had mocked him and laughed in his face upset him beyond belief. Maybe Stark was not as well disposed towards him as Bruce had assumed.

Maybe, Bruce pondered, Tony held an even deeper grudge about what had happened than he had previously let on. A deep sense of loneliness and frustration mixed with his anger and Second Lieutenant Wayne exhaled. While he was busy examining the wet rings the bottom of his bottle left on the wooden counter, a sonorous voice interrupted his dejected train of thoughts.

“Hey, Herb – scotch on the rocks.”  
  
Bruce did not bother to turn around. Their elderly bartender pulled a face and simultaneously a bottle of Corona from the fridge. “That will never get old to you Anthony, or will it?” Said man only grinned his trademark megawatt smile and accepted his beverage. “Ahh you should know by now my dear Herby-Herb, Starkster jokes are ageless. Cheers.” The barkeeper smiled and continued to wipe down his counter.

First, a hand slammed down on Bruce’s right shoulder, then Tony appeared in his line of view and slid on the vacant bar stool next to him. Wary, the Gothamite glimpsed sideways before he started to peel off the bottle label. Tony’s lips made a smacking noise after he took the first sip. “Suffice to say my humor’s not to _your_ taste. Got it." All he got in response was a snort at first, but then Bruce pursed his lips.  
  
“If it makes me the laughing stock of the base, then no, not really.”  
Tony gave a huge, over-dramatic sigh and put his bottle down.  
“C’mon, it wasn’t like that. Nobody thinks of you that way 'round here.”  
  
Bruce knew it was a dangerous topic, considering he was on his third beer in thirty minutes.  
“Ask your precious Captain America wannabe, he might tell you different.”  
Tony's eyes narrowed to slits. When Bruce did not elaborate, he sipped on his beer instead.  
  
“Rogers? What's he gotta do with it?”  
Inwardly cursing himself for causing unnecessary tension, Wayne shook his head.  
“Nothin'. Nothin' at all.”  
  
The dark-haired Captain pushed his jaw forward but chose to not press on. “Well, okay. I'm a prick. That's what you wanted to hear, right? So next round's on me.” Despite not wanting to, Bruce gave the tiniest smirk, and Tony chimed in, confident in his tactics. They drank in silence for a couple of minutes until he felt the need to inquire. “Now shoot. Any particular reason for you not going up there in the past few weeks?”  
  
Bruce shrugged his shoulders too fast for Tony to believe him. “Got a lot of work to do down here, s'all.” Stark sneered. “Uh-huh, sure. Keep on telling yourself that big fat load of bullshit make-believe, buddy.” As expected, the youngster began to protest, and Tony had to be quick to save his drink from being swept away by Wayne's flailing arm.

“So what? What's it to you? I'm just the FNG who screwed up the first mission he got sent on. No big deal if I stay on base; not all o' us can be aces like you, Iron. And I really mean that 'n the truest sense o' word, kay? So maybe 's for th' best if I don' go up there, even though...” From the way Wayne had to grab the counter to not fall from his chair, Tony noticed he was quite inebriated, but chose to not comment on the fact.

A drunken Bruce Wayne was something that had never happened before, and Tony Stark was quite curious for the untamed beast underneath. “... I _know_ bout all that stuff, y'know? M _not_ a pipeliner! I _know_ I can fly, but no one'll lemme.” Tony's eyes softened a little, unnoticed from Bruce who thumped a palm on the counter for emphasis. “Sure, kiddo, I'm sure you can. You just had a rough start.”

Part of him felt bad for being responsible for Wayne's mishap. During their first disastrous dogfight-gone-bad, he had pulled some reckless stunts solely to fluster and rattle him, which, subsequently had endangered both of them. The Captain then signaled Herb for two more beers and leaned in closer to his pouting companion. “Tell me though – you still love to fly, don't you?”  
  
Bruce gave an overly emphatic nod and raised the bottle. Tony's eyes followed his motions as the Gothamite closed his mouth around the bottleneck. He unconsciously swallowed when Bruce's tongue licked off his bottom lip and was quick to busy himself with his own beverage. “Maybe Fury'll get me into AETC, have't'a speak t'him.“ That got Tony's attention.

The fact that Wayne considered going back for the Air Education and Training Command in the States baffled him. After a swig from his beer, Tony pointed with his bottle in mid-air at Bruce. “Fuck the AETC - _I'm_ gonna be the best teacher you can get!” Something then happened which had never happened before:

Bruce Wayne tilted his head back and laughed; a hearty belly laugh right from the bottom of his very core. It exposed a set of white, even teeth and some milky skin around his bobbing Adam's apple. The sound and image got stuck in Tony's mind, even as the moment passed as quick as it had come. “You're a riot, Iron, a real f'king riot. T'bad you don' like me, but... - you're a riot. Sheesh.”

At that point, Bruce's eyes were fairly glazed over and he was sprawling across the counter on an elbow, looking at Tony with an almost rapt expression on his face. Stark then pushed their semi-empty bottles away to where Herb discreetly hovered and slipped him a few bills. “Yep. Time to call it quits. Herb, see ya tomorrow. LT, Imma take you home now.” He half-pulled, half-dragged the mellow Gothamite from the chair.

Soon, they stood underneath the dark, starry sky and the door of the bar slammed shut behind them, drowning out the interior noise level to a minimum. Bruce sniveled and tried to stand up straight in order to get rid of Stark's close proximity. As soon as he attempted a step forward on his own, however, he found his equilibrium not cooperating and slumped heavily against the solid body of the Captain.

When he heard Tony utter a snigger, Wayne snorted in dismay.  
“F'cker, y'got m'drunk.”  
A warm hand was around his waist as Tony steered him onwards.

“Consider it payback for avoiding me like the plague before.”  
Bruce snuffled once more and wiped the back of his free hand across his nose.  
“H'v not.”

Bruce started to shiver noticeably in the brisk Iraqi night air, and Tony unconsciously pressed himself up close to him. Together, they stumbled onwards into the direction of their barracks, Bruce's arm carelessly thrown over Tony's shoulder, whilst the shorter man had a tight hold on Bruce's midriff. Before reaching their destination, Wayne haltered their steps with a strength Tony had not suspected him to own in his current state.

One hand clawed into Tony's collar as Wayne propelled himself to stand in front him. Stark held his breath as Bruce leaned in close, and, in an unconscious move, his hands found their way onto Bruce's hips; steadying without pressure. The younger man blinked at him a couple of times, unfocused, before he lowered his gaze. “M'sorry, kay? M' reals sorry. I n'v'r drink s'much.”  
  
Without warning, Tony then cupped the sides of his head and raised it to look him in the eyes. “Make it up to me by meeting me once your head's clear again, okay? Tomorrow, my shop.” A quick ruffle to Bruce's hair, then Stark was gone once his cargo was safely inside. With the world spinning all around him, the Gothamite was out cold in less than five minutes, sleeping in his suit and boots, prone on his belly.

+++

It took Bruce a few trips to the bathroom and a lot of Alka-Seltzer to get back on his feet the next day.

He surprised Tony by actually standing in the doorway of his workshop at sunset, wearing a pair of dark Ray-Ban aviators and carrying two cups of coffee in his hands. With a delighted grin, Tony slammed his toolbox shut and stepped up to take a proffered cup. “Back in the land of the living?” Wayne’s mouth twitched in meager amusement as he took off his shades and pocketed them.  
  
“More like caught in the Twilight Zone. What is it you wanted to show me?”  
  
Stark took a huge gulp out of his cup and beckoned him closer. His workshop really was huge, Bruce noticed for the first time. It was an old hangar roughly the size of a small football field, filled with a lot of electronic clutter, gear, and two F-16 machines in the very back. The young Gothamite stared at the concealed fighter jets in stunned disbelief until Tony nudged his shoulder.

“C’mon, they don’t bite.” They walked side by side towards the towering aircraft. Bruce could not stop gawking. “Two hangar queens turned into my very own Stark Special Edition. They were gutted to the core and about to be sent back to the taxpayers when I got them. Put a bit of gizmo in there, et voila.” Bruce found his headache melting away as Tony pulled off the camouflage netting.  
  
“Well, fuck me sideways - they look amazing!” Tony kept his potentially indecent response to himself and made an inviting gesture. “So, whaddya say – let’s put on the walking pajamas, get the birds up on some bingo fuel and see what's cooking? I need to get back into the swing, too, so we could be sparring it up a little.” Incredulous hazel eyes widened. “We’d _never_ get clearance for lift-off!” A Cheshire Cat grin.

“Just watch me, Bats.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jet Fuel is a pure figment of imagination. Oh, and I'm making use of the so-called artistic license to get a pass on underage drinking, seeing Bruce is not even 21 here (albeit not being in the US, but anyhow)


	6. Chapter 6

“Speedbird 4470, ground control reports clearance for landing strip 03.”  
Tony grinned behind his visor and strapped the oxygen mask over his mouth shut.  
“Roger, roger, Hapster Hogan, thank you kindly. Owe ya one for squeezing us in.”

The big bulky man at the tower raised his hand in informal greeting at the two jets outside.  
“No problemo, bossman. Make sure you're back by 2000 hours. Enjoy the ride. Over and out.”  
Five minutes later, Tony and Bruce were airborne, soaring above the clouds of the Iraqi sundown.

“Now show me what'cha got, Waynster. Let's start out with some simple Split S maneuvers.”  
And so Bruce did, with an inverted half-roll of his aircraft and a perfectly executed descending half-loop.  
He watched as Tony followed suit in a near impossible, even tighter radius turn.

“Showoff.”  
A deep baritone chuckle resounded over the line.  
“I'll say. But that's how you gonna learn, kiddo, from the best. Fuck the AETC, I told ya.”

During their very first test run, Tony kept the Gothamite on repeat until he had the Split S down pat. From then on, their private evening flight training sessions took place once a day. After practicing different air combat maneuvers, both to engage and disengage from combat, Tony had them dog-fighting at a one to four miles short-range, stopping at nothing while working Bruce into the ground.

When the basics had sunk in after a while, they added fun elements to their daily training runs. Tony loved low flying and crazy fast passes and was delighted to have found somebody to share his love for non-standardized flight maneuvers and ludicrous stunts with. Even though flat-hatting was unauthorized and usually the fastest way to end a career, being a Stark seemed to outweigh any objections of the brass.

Tony soon discovered Bruce indeed was a talented pilot and an even more avid learner. The only thing he had difficulties with was the complex J-turn, a maneuver which took the capacity of an F-16 to the limit and subjected its pilot to high g-force. More often than not, Tony would slap the sweat-soaked shoulder of his comrade after they finished another fruitless session.

“Rome wasn't built in a day, Bats, stop pushin' it.”  
  
Tony's casual support was honest; it did however not stop Bruce from trying harder each and every time anew. When he experienced his very first, near blackout one day, jerking back into awareness only when Tony screamed into his ears to fucking snap out of it, he relented. Stark near socked him once they had the ground back under their feet. “So NOT on! I'm not gonna watch you crash and burn up there, you fuckwit, got that?!”

Once Wayne's head had stopped being woozy, he and Tony exchanged some foulmouthed words before they parted ways and avoided each others company for a while. Knowing the sooner he went and ate humble pie in front of Tony, the sooner their flight lessons would resume, Bruce Wayne swallowed all of his juvenile pride and went to make amends and apologize for his foolhardiness.

He entered the holy halls of Tony's workshop one Thursday night, only to find Captain Steve Rogers lingering around. He did not fail to notice how Rogers swung around at his entry, clearly feeling caught. The blonde had been inspecting the two fighter machines from close up. After the second week of practicing together, Tony had added a unique paint job to each aircraft.

While his own F-16 now adorned metallic lettering of Captain Tony 'Iron' Stark, the mechanic had embellished one side of the second vessel with the silhouette of a black bat, its bold initials reading B. W.

“What are you doing here?”  
Less than impressed by Rogers' attempt at sounding commanding, Wayne shrugged.  
“Could ask you the same thing, but I'm not really interested, so...”  
  
Steve's jaw tightened in subtle anger. With a suspicious glint in his blue eyes, he stepped up closer to Bruce and planted himself right in front. Mere inches separated their faces, but neither backed down. Of similar height, Wayne meanwhile near matched Rogers in muscle mass, thanks to his regular exercise routine. It gave him confidence. “I don't like you and your big mouth, Wayne, got that? You and your lone ranger shit.”  
  
Bruce mustered him head to toe with an insolent expression and a bold sneer on his lips. “You're mad Tony's not interested in your bootlicking anymore?” That prompted the blonde man to pull back his fist. When Wayne remained standing after dodging his first punch, the experienced boxer in Steve went for in-fighting mode. He eventually managed to wrestle Bruce down, after getting socked in the lip by the youngster.

“Nobody here likes you, Wayne, no one. You don't belong here, no matter how hard you try!”  
  
Hot rage cruised through Bruce's and allowed him to gain back ground and throw Rogers off. Instead of going in for another round, however, Bruce withdrew his fist and got up. “I don't care if you like me - do your job and I do mine. And do yourself a favor and stop staking out territory that doesn't even belong to you!” With an agile jump, Steve was back on his feet. Red-faced he left the hangar without further comment.  
  
Once he was out of sight, Bruce allowed himself to release a huge breath and probed the area around his right cheek. It was just his luck that on the same evening, Tony ran into him and his blackened eye. Even as Bruce turned around and left the gym, it was too late. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute – what's with that shiner, Bats?” Grumbling, Bruce kept on walking, trying to shake the other man off. Tony was unrelenting.  
  
“Gonna take a wild shot here and say it's connected to Steve's split lip. He didn't spill either.” From where he dug inside his gym bag, Bruce eventually came to a standstill and faced him. “Rogers' been talking shit. I don’t have to put up with that. End of story.” Stark raised his hands in mock-surrender at the blurted out words. “At least come and spot me on the bench press. That way you can say it was a sports accident.”  
  
In the end, after a sweaty hour-long exercise session at the gym, Bruce decided the day did end far better than expected. He found the courage to bribe Tony into resuming their flight training by inviting him for burger and fries after their workout. In return, he listened patiently to the seemingly endless list of modifications Stark had made to the two F-16 vessels.

+++

“Okay now guys, the reason we're having this lovely meeting so very bright and early today is clear, I guess. Iraqi forces have invaded the Kurdish regions of northern Iraq. As a result, the no-fly zone was extended north to the 33rd parallel.” Tony Stark sat, one casual hip slid up on the corner of the table, and pointed with his pen onto an overhead projector. A transparency showed a map of the region he was talking about.

The uniformed men in the room looked up at the projection on the wall in concentration as he moved the pen. “We're about to destroy most of their radar and air defense command stations in, what I've come to learn from the amazing Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes, is called 'Operation Desert Strike'. Tomorrow, eight of us will infiltrate the airspace in question. Targets: North and south Iraq.”

Captain Stark then put his pen aside, kept the projector switched on and rose. “My team and I are gonna go the good old finger four. Steve-O, I want you as my element leader, Hawkeye – element wingman, if you please? We're such a lovely little, dysfunctional family, aren't we.” Both men nodded, albeit unsure about their leader's strategy. Large brown eyes then twinkled into the direction of the man at the very front desk.

Second Lieutenant Wayne kept on staring at his clipboard until he eventually looked up and found Tony's gaze on him.  
“Ah, hello there, officer Wayne. A very good morning to you too, and welcome to the meeting.”  
Muffled sniggers erupted from the back, but both Tony's voice and eyes held no real spite.  
  
“I want you right up there with me, as my wingman. You up for the ride, Bats?”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes straighten up from where he stood and leaned in the doorway. Visible protest crossed his features, but Stark just threw him a reassuring wink-and-smile combo before he focused back on the youngest of the room. Bruce mustered up all of his best deadpan expression. “You're calling the shots, Captain.”  
  
He was met with a thumbs up from Tony, whilst Rogers and Barton continued to exchange some skeptical looks. James Rhodes made a beeline for the exit as soon as Tony called the meeting done. Stark excused himself with a casual salute and was quick to follow his friend. “Rhodey! Hey – platypus! Wait up will ya?” Exasperated, the Lieutenant-Colonel swung around.  
  
“You're fucking nuts, Tones, okay!? I should be pulling you off-mission for that.”  
When Tony made a move to grasp him, Rhodes jerked away. Stark threw his arms in the air.  
“C'mon, don't get your hackles all up, Rhodey. I just assembled my team, what's it to you?”  
  
Dark brown eyes bore into his as the higher ranked officer jabbed an index finger at his chest.  
“You wanna risk something like that again? I thought you were smarter than that, man.”  
Not granting his longtime friend time for a reply, James turned around and walked away.  
  
“... and besides, Wayne doesn't belong to your team, Tones, okay? He doesn't belong here.”  
Angry the mechanic stared at the retreating man and chewed on the faint hint of his soul patch.  
“Here's where you're wrong, Rhodey – and I'll prove to you how wrong you are, just you wait.”  
  
No further words were spoken between them. Tony also turned and walked back to the room.

+++

The next day at 0600 hours, four F-16 jet fighters left Al Asad base, heading for enemy territory.

Wayne had been withdrawn and silent during the entire pre-flight routines, a grave expression on his face whenever Tony glanced his way and tried to get him to loosen up. As soon as they were approaching the targeted area, Bruce's internal ordeal started to creep up on him. He even flinched at the sound of the radio communicator when Tony asked him to check his position.

“I'm on your right side, Iron 1, a little low.”  
Bruce glimpsed at his HUD and felt sweat running down his temple.  
“Let's bring it to the right to get a better angle on 'em later on, Bats 2. Like holding hands.”

“Roger that.”

Barton noticed the two enemy MIG fighters which dropped out of the sky behind them first.  
“Iron 1, we have traffic, right two o’clock slightly high, one mile, closing.“  
Bruce also checked the rear and saw both opponents executing their moves in a blur.

“Roger Hawkeye 4. Watch your airspeed guys, 450 max or else the turn rate is gonna be shit.”  
Tony sounded every bit the focused flight leader as he rattled off instructions.  
“Bats 2: Gimme an ops check now! Iron 1 is 55, green.“

Having to focus on his current stats and fuel consumption rate at least got Bruce to comply.  
“Bats 2, 45, green.”  
After Rogers and Barton had also confirmed their statuses, Tony set for dogfighting mode.

“Roger Bats 2, just stay on my wing and maintain position. I'll take you all the way in.“  
The Gothamite felt his heart rate increasing. His hand slightly shook around the joystick.  
Out of nowhere, the horizon swam before his eyes.

“Throttle back a li'l there, Bats 2. You're a bit fast.“  
Bruce felt the world spin before him and tried to shake his vision clean. Tony was in his ear.  
When no immediate answer came over the comm, Stark sounded a trifle more urgent.  
  
“Bats 2, you're too fast! Come on, buddy, slow down!“  
  
Blood rushed in Bruce's ears, fingers tingling as if ants crawled inside his gloves. The panic attack came out of nowhere, taking him back to the mission where he had failed Tony for the very first time. If he failed again, he would not only endanger Tony's life, but also the outcome of the whole mission. Rogers' cynical voice then got through his hazy mind. “Knock it off Wayne, before you're fucking all of us up!”

Caught up in tunnel vision, Bruce gritted his teeth and fought hard on staying conscious. Then Tony's deep, reassuring voice was in his ear. “You kept your shit together and saved my ass in the desert – you won't friggin pull out now! And Freedom 3: Cool it down over there. Hawkeye 4 and you go for MIG one.”

After taking a few, deep breaths, the Gothamite found his anxiety making way to an underlying anger; anger directed at himself for being the weakest link once more despite being more than capable. He gripped the throttle with new-found courage and swerved back into formation. “Tally ho, Iron 1, I'm going for lag pursuit.” He managed to get his body to comply and went through the motions of an ascending half-loop.  
  
His opponent in the MIG was not prepared for him finishing with a half-roll out, resulting in level flight in the exact opposite direction at a higher altitude. Within mere seconds, the MIG pilot found himself overshooting and in position of the defender. The enemy aircraft disengaged soon after; upon seeing its companion had also been outmaneuvered by Rogers and Barton.

“Fucking hell, Bats 2, did ya just pull a fuckin Jedi mind trick on me or what?!”  
Bruce half-rolled his aircraft inverted and executed a descending half-loop.  
“Pleasure, Iron 1, you're welcome. Oh, and Rogers? Sierra Tango Foxtrot Uniform.“

Silence over the comm, then Captain Stark's laughter hollered through the line.  
“Bravo Zulu, Bats outta hell just grew some balls. We're goin in - show me what'cha got!”  
Tony threw him a thumbs up sign that Bruce responded to before they sprang into action.

The anti-aircraft crews waiting for them with surface-to-air missiles began to fire at tremendous rates. While most anti-aircraft artillery remained at 12,000 feet, some heavy, large caliber explosions made it up to Tony and his team at almost 25,000 feet. When the low altitude AAA became thick as fog, all four of them were forced to take evasive maneuvers.

Tony's voice rang out over the beeping instruments of their fighter jets, trying to keep his unit together. Bruce lived through most of the attack like he was on autopilot. The frantic “SAM lock! SAM lock!” yell of Barton, whenever another missile was coming his or Rogers' way, had him breathing so hard at times that Bruce was sure it would not take him long to lose vision; harbingers of the so-called gray-out.

The colors were already beginning to fade around him and the beeped 'Over G' warning sounds only vaguely reached his ears. Bruce knew it would be a good time to ease on the g-force but nevertheless held on with gritted teeth. 

From where he craned his neck, Tony was able to watch Bruce's F-16 perform some of the greatest J-turns the Gothamite had ever tried his hand at. Full of determination and pride for his cohort, Stark set for attack once the targeted area was in reach.

“Bats 2, Freedom 3, Hawkeye 4: A Fox 3, for your consideration.”  
They watched Stark fire off his active radar missiles. They struck the ground and exploded in a fiery ball.

Tony repeated his actions twice until ground control finally affirmed the straight hit.  
“Bullseye! Radar control down!”  
First Lieutenant Barton whooped into his earpiece, and Tony joined in.

“Ground control, we're about to RTB, time for you to break out the bub.”

+++

When the four F-16 jet fighter landed back on base and had been marshaled in, Steve and Clint were the first ones to slap Tony's back and congratulate him. Helmet cradled underneath his arm, Tony eyed Bruce's aircraft across the tarmac, waiting for the younger man to open the canopy and get out. Nothing happened. 

With a frown, Stark pushed his helmet into Steve's hand.  
  
“Hold on a sec. Something's not right.”  
  
His two friends followed his line of view. Tony began to walk over to the humming jet of his friend, steps breaking out into a light jog when he saw from afar how Bruce still wore his helmet and sat strapped in his seat. It was then that Tony dashed onwards and climbed the five steps of the ladder ground control had already attached after their landing in two large jumps.

Wayne's head hung low inside the heavy, dark visor helmet. On the verge of frantic, Tony cranked the speed handle for the canopy open from the outside. A gust of hot, stifling air engulfed him as he reached inside, yanked the oxygen mask off and pushed the visor up. Bruce's eyes were closed, his skin ashen and clammy, and his breathing flat and labored.  
  
“Shitfuck! Bruce, can you hear me? Hey, Bruce! HEY!”  
Tony tried to keep his voice from panicking as he patted his comrade's cheek over and over.  
“C'mon buddy, this isn't funny. Talk to me!”  
  
Once fresh oxygen from outside streamed into the cockpit, Wayne's eyelids began to flutter. He blinked a couple of times until he stared right into the horrified countenance of Captain Tony Stark. As soon as he was able to focus, Bruce felt the other man's hand on his cheek. 

“Drama queen much, Iron?”

His voice was a tad too shaky, but Bruce somehow mastered a weak grin. Tony released a huge breath he did not know he had been holding. After admonishing Wayne with a stern but still tender slap to the cheek, he withdrew his hand and pointed an index finger at him. “Son-of-a-cock-loving-whore, if you ever do that to me again, I swear I'll...”

Footsteps from behind announced the arrival of Rogers and Barton, plus a team of paramedics.   
Stark licked his lips and waved all of them off, knowing about Wayne's pride and ego.   
“Got ridden hard and put away wet, but he's gonna be fine. Back off, you guys.”

With a combined effort, he managed to get Bruce out of the cockpit and down the ladder. The Gothamite's legs still felt like jello, but then there was Tony's arm around his waist. Much to Bruce's surprise, Barton also interlinked an arm with him, whilst Rogers willingly carried his helmet. With their youngest tucked safely in the middle, the four men left the dusty tarmac.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Dear Pep,_

_You’ll be happy to hear your boyfriend’s officially a hero. Got up in the air and kicked ass real good yesterday. And guess what – got rewarded with a ten-days leave! Isn’t that something? I really wanna see you, so you’ll better dump those books and leave Princeton behind on the weekend – your tiger’s hungry as hell!!!_  
  
_Love,_  
_Tony_

  
After their victorious mission, Colonel Fury gave them some time off. Stark and Wayne would be the first ones to leave the base, with Rogers and Barton following after their return. Tony had long since decided to leave for New York and see his girl. When asked about his own plans for some R&R, the morning after during their shaving session, Bruce just shrugged around his razor.  
  
"I’ll stay on base.”  
Incredulous, Tony raised his head from where he had rinsed the foam off his face.  
“What?! Like hell you'll be the barrack's rat, that’s not even an option!”

He blindly groped for a towel behind him and rubbed it across his cheeks.  
"Come with me, get yourself a dose of the big apple. Pepper’d be delighted to meet ya.”  
Just then Captain Rogers entered the shower stall, bare-chested and with a towel around his shoulders.

He mustered the two men, barely nodded once into Bruce’s direction and focused on Tony.  
“Real good shot yesterday, Iron.”  
Tony leaned back against the sink and successfully dunked his towel into the wash basket.  
  
“You’re expecting, I’m delivering. Anythin’ up for tonight, Freedom?”

Bruce turned away from their conversation and packed his shaving kit, lips pressed together tight. Even before their brawl, Rogers had never taken a liking to him; but after seeing Tony and him getting on friendly terms after their escape from the desert, Steve either ignored Bruce or looked at him like he was some low life. He had long since decided not to give a fuck.

The blonde then began to get fully undressed. He casually continued to talk about plans from the squadron to meet at The Jet Fuel at 10 PM to celebrate their victory, before they would not see each other for almost three weeks. From the corner of his eye, Tony saw Bruce leave the showers without so much of a glance back. Quick to confirm Rogers he would be there, Stark put on a t-shirt and headed after the Gothamite.

“Hey, hey, hey, Bruce – Bats, HEY! Wait up, ya still owe me an answer!”  
Bruce slowed down a little when a warm palm grabbed his upper arm from behind.  
“For what?”

He eyed the shorter man with an impassive look.  
“New York – yes or yes? C’mon buddy, I made reservations for two, don’t leave me hangin.”  
Tony’s excited demeanor and the glint in his eyes eventually got Bruce to sigh.

“... okay.”

+++

Late that night, Bruce found himself surrounded by squadron members, many officers and non-commissioned officers, and lots of faces he had never seen around base before. The Jet Fuel with its close confines was packed beyond belief. Smoke wafted through the air, and the sound level was high with laughter, chatter and Coolio’s 'Gangsta’s Paradise' in the background.

Within the crowd, he spotted Staff Sergeant Natasha Romanov and First Lieutenant Clint Barton, deeply involved in a heated game of pool. From the way they behaved around each other, Bruce figured they shared more than just their respective spite for most people. In another corner, two doctors stood and sipped on their respective soft drinks. Wayne recognized them from when they had performed surgery on Tony.

Doctor Bruce Banner was a short man with curly black, slightly graying hair and a pair of round, metal glasses. He was a quiet man, but as Tony had so astutely observed in sickbay, it was better not to provoke the good doc, or there would be hell to pay. His colleague, Doctor Donald Blake, was the complete opposite when it came to outward appearance.

Even taller than Steve Rogers, with longish blond hair, a scruff of beard, and blue eyes, he was what Stark jokingly called a deity. A northerner born and bred, Blake was intimidating in size, but as meek as a lamb. Bruce’s eyes flickered over to where Tony stood, or rather swaggered, around the bar. He had a bottle of beer in his hand and seemed in deep conversation with Rogers.

Sometimes, Tony would double over laughing or punch Steve’s huge bicep in mock revolt at something he was saying. It was obvious the blonde Captain enjoyed all the attention Tony gave him, and Bruce turned away to face the counter instead. Inwardly he already regretted having been bribed by Stark into coming along and began to do a mental inventory of all things he had packed for their upcoming trip the next day.

A quick glimpse at his watch confirmed his restlessness, and Bruce gave himself ten more minutes until he would call it quits, a little after midnight. A petite woman with dark brown hair done up in a ponytail, wearing cargo pants and a t-shirt like most of them, appeared next to his left arm at the counter. She cast him a brief smile upwards which Bruce responded to with an equally polite nod.

He then watched her trying to get the stand-in bartender to notice her. After two futile attempts, due to the noise and commotion all around, Bruce sprang into gentleman mode and leaned over to her. “What do you want to drink?” Pleasant surprise on her face, the young female soldier dug into her pocket for a few more bills. “Corona – and whatever you have. Drinks are on me if you manage to get us some.”

Not able to talk her out of buying him a drink, Bruce eventually caved in. He straightened up, waved his near-empty bottle and held up two fingers in the air. In less than two minutes they clinked each other's bottlenecks and sipped on their beers. The woman then mustered him. 

“Does the gentleman have a name?” 

Bruce smirked lightly and introduced himself. The woman turned out to be a senior airman by the name of Rachel and had really nice eyes, he noticed. The two of them got into a casual conversation which made him abort his initial plan for the moment. 

Rachel Dawes, as he found out, had arrived at Al Asad the week before, was scheduled for temporary duty and about to be transferred to another airbase the day after tomorrow.

For the night, however, she was looking for someone to dance with, and Bruce was not about to lose his gentleman status by refusing her wish.

Tony’s spirits were soaring high. He had re-established his hero status around base, kicked ass, and was about to get home to finally see his girl again. Reassured that Bruce would drag his hung-over butt all the way to New York, he allowed himself to break loose on the booze. Next to him, Steve had just made an ascending gesture with his hands, and Tony had to lean in close to hear what he was actually saying along with it.

From where he stood with Rogers and a couple of guys from ground support, Tony then let his eyes wander around. The Jet Fuel was cramped, but apparently not too cramped for some to try a step or two, he noticed. His left eyebrow rose in surprise as he spotted Bruce and an unfamiliar, dark-haired woman in a corner, getting to first base to the sound of Salt N Pepa's ‘Whatta Man’.

Transfixed, he watched the woman grinding against Wayne; watched how her hands slid low until they slipped into the back pockets of his pants. Tony could not help but wonder when it was that Bruce’s physique had broadened so much. He had been a gangly jailbait no two months earlier. 

“…Tony? Hey, Tony, you listening to me?!” 

A warm gust of air next to his ear made him snap back to reality. Steve was looking at him with a quizzical expression and borderline annoyance at not having his undeterred attention anymore. Tony smirked an apology and raised the bottle to his lips.  He downed the rest of his beer in one gulp and twisted until he was able to dispose of the bottle on a bar table behind them.

"Uh-huh, yeah. Anyways, Steve-O, gotta bounce. Later, Rogers.”

A slap on the shoulder of the other Captain and Tony was gone, sashaying through the crowd to the beat with ease. Steve narrowed his eyes but made no move to follow. Instead, he turned and headed for the pool tables, about to join Romanov and Barton for a game or two.

Rachel Dawes was a woman who knew how to move to the music, Bruce noted to himself. Her supple body angled up perfectly with his as she moved even closer, enabling him to put one of his legs in between hers. He studied her close-up features; the little dimples on her cheeks as she smiled at him, and the twinkle in her eyes as his hands cupped her butt in return.

Bruce did not even know why he was leading her on; he certainly was not looking for a quick shag to begin with, and Rachel seemed like a girl who should be treated with dinner, movies, and date nights rather than just a fast number against the wall of the restrooms of a dingy bar. His derogatory line of thoughts eventually dampened his momentary overload of feelings.

Rachel also withdrew ever so slightly when she felt him detach. She kept a small smile on her face, brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and took her other hand off his chest. “Be right back, okay?” He nodded once, noncommittal, and watched her disappear into the direction of the restrooms. Indecision mixed with a nagging feeling of unease and he palmed his neck.  
  
When Shaggy's 'Mr. Boombastic' soon after blasted through the speakers, a sturdy hand worked its way around his waist. Surprised and angered at the unwanted physical contact, Bruce swung around, ready to lash out. Two molten brown eyes and a mouth full of white teeth gleamed back at him. “Whoa there - easy, sourpuss, ‘s jus’ me." Tony bumped a little into him and steadied himself on Bruce's shoulders.

Stark then squinted and proceeded to look around. His hands stayed right where they were as he leaned in close; dark eyes holding a mischievous glint. "Where's ya date?" Bruce swallowed a little and unconsciously leaned back. "Huh?" Tony's eyebrow quirked. "The hot brunette who looked like she wanted to devour you on the spot?" The bass-laden refrain boomed off the walls. Bruce gave a single, small shake of the head.  
  
"I'm pulling chocks now, Tony. I'll see you tomorrow at 0500, 'kay?"  
Tony regarded him through hooded eyes. His thumbs pressed hard into Bruce's clavicle.  
Maybe Wayne was imagining things, but he was sure he felt the other man's hips sway against his.  
  
"You have a thing for hot brunettes, Bats?"  
Not knowing what to say, Bruce avoided his glance and glimpsed over to the restrooms. No sign of Rachel so far.  
Determined, Wayne put his hands on Tony's and gently pried him off.  
  
"Good night, Iron." 

+++

They left base at 0515 with Tony's eyes hidden behind dark shades and his mouth a grim, downward curve after having pushed it up until 3 in the morning. He and Bruce spoke few words on their flight over to New York. Both slept through the time spent in the air until they arrived at JFK even more jet-lagged and tired than before, seeing it now was a little before midnight.

A cab took them to Tony's apartment. Stark had convinced him to stay over at his place for the night, and Wayne had agreed. Due to the ungodly time and the hassle of finding a reasonable hotel, it seemed the easiest solution. During their drive through the buzzing city, Tony showed Bruce his birthplace which turned out to be a posh, city-block-sized building at 890 Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.

Since his parents' death, however, Tony had not set a foot in the three-story mansion. It was kept clean by housemaids, he said with a shrug. Once they had arrived in West Harlem, at a district called Morningside Heights, Tony paid the driver while Bruce hauled their duffel bags out of the trunk. They made their way up into his studio on the fifth floor where Tony turned on the light and dropped his bag next to the front door.

Bruce was surprised how very modest and sparse the apartment was, considering Tony was the only heir to the Stark dynasty. His studio on 510 W 123rd Street was no bigger than 450 square feet max, with high ceilings, a polished, dark hardwood floor, and a brick wall. Two well-worn leather wing chairs stood around a little coffee table that was hidden underneath a pile of engineering magazines.

There was no couch, only a twin-sized bed in between two windows at the wall. The open kitchenette area was small but seemed modern enough. A glimpse to the left revealed a tube-shaped and white-tiled bathroom with a fairly large ground floor shower cabin in the corner. “Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourself at home, but keep in mind I’m a lousy cook.”  
  
Tony then went on scurrying around, trying to toss and shove piles of clothes, books, and tools into the built-in closets and out of Bruce’s sight. The young Gothamite placed his bag next to one of the wing chairs, shoved his hands into his pockets and stifled a yawn. His eyes came to rest upon a framed picture on the shelf.

A cigarette-smoking Tony and a young, red-haired woman with freckles were holding hands as they sauntered down the sidewalk, grinning into the camera. Going by Tony's non-military hairstyle Bruce figured it was from before he had enlisted in the air force. Stark poked his head around a closet door and followed his gaze. “That's my girl. You two gotta meet. Oh, and just go use the bathroom first, be right up.”  
  
Bruce nodded and hunkered down to pick his shaving kit from his bag before he disappeared. His hand hovered around the doorknob for a second but decided against locking it. He was quick to undress and stood in boxers and t-shirt at the sink brushing his teeth when Tony knocked once and entered shortly after. Stark grinned at the white foam on his lips, and the younger man was quick to rinse his mouth.

Once he looked back up into the mirror, Tony had shed his shirt and stood examining the white scar tissue pattern on his chest. In the harsh overhead light, the blemishes looked even more prominent on his olive skin. Bruce caught himself staring and averted his eyes before Tony noticed. He grabbed a towel instead. “Talk about damaged goods, eh? Just hope Pepper’s not gonna take this as a too big turn-off.”  
  
From where he rubbed his face in fresh linen softener, Bruce mumbled something unintelligible. “Huh?” Red-faced the Gothamite re-appeared and met Tony’s eyes in the mirror. “I said they make you look dangerous and don't look like a turn-off at all.” Pleased, the elder man began to flex his pectoral and ab muscles, gauging the objection. “Yeah, if you put it that way...”

It was then that Bruce escaped the small corners of the bathroom.  
Stark's voice still echoed after him.  
“... she always said I was her own Tony the Tiger anyhow, so there we go. Got my stripes.”

Soon enough, he, too, exited the bathroom, clad in the same combo as Bruce. The two of them shared the mid-sized futon bed without any complaints about the narrow confines, and its owner switched off the lights and wished his comrade a pleasant night. Despite his bone-numbing tiredness, Bruce Wayne lay awake for another twenty minutes. Eyes closed, he listened to the unknown sounds of the city and Tony’s breathing.  
  
It eventually calmed him down enough to turn his back on his host and give in to his own fatigue as well.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_Dear Tony,_

_Princeton is tough, but exactly what I wanted! Knowing you, this letter will probably rot in your mailbox anyhow, but if not – please call me once you have the chance; there are a few things you and I need to talk about. I'm at my parents most of the weekends._

_Best,_  
_Pepper_

 

On Friday morning, Tony was the first one awake.

A light sleeper ever since his childhood, he rolled onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head. The station clock on the wall across from him showed 8:16 AM and sunlight streamed in through the semi-closed blinds above. His eyes traced the familiar patterns on the ceiling until they skimmed across the semi-neat pile of clothes from Bruce upon his duffel bag, and Tony's haphazardly strewn belongings aside.

Upon watching the big, faded Led Zeppelin poster from their 1972 gig in San Diego on the wall, its edges curling around the glue strips, Tony pursed his lips in silent contentment. It felt good being home once again. Something small and out of place gleamed back at him from the end of his bed, something which Tony soon identified as Bruce's dog tags hanging from the bedpost.

His nightly quarters came without a second nightstand or other amenities, a fact Pepper had oftentimes chided him upon, so his guest had improvised on his own. Careful, Tony turned his head to watch the sleeping man next to him. Bruce lay on his back, one arm draped over his chest, head turned into Tony’s direction. His lips were slightly parted, and there was a dreamy expression on his face.

Tony could not help but to smile in return. At the same time, however, it frightened him how shockingly young and innocent Wayne looked, and how that caused a sharp tug of protectiveness somewhere deep inside of him. As if on cue, two tired hazel eyes blinked open, looking like their owner had been miles away. Once Bruce had figured out his surroundings, he began to stretch and move under the blanket.

Tony propped himself up on one elbow and faced his overnight guest. “Mornin, Bats. Slept well? Rise and shine LT, it’s almost 0830 hours.” Amused Tony watched said man wipe a hand over his eyes and give a noncommittal grunt. He himself then slung the covers back and swung his legs over the rim. Instead of following his lead, Bruce twisted around to the other side and pulled the covers high up to his chin.  
  
“Fuck, nah, I’m on leave. Go’way.”

Stark decided to leave him be for the moment, turned on the coffee maker, and went to shower and shave. About twenty minutes later, he left a steaming bathroom behind and found his comrade also up and awake. By that time, Wayne was doing bare-chested pushups on the wooden floor in full concentration mode until he eventually got aware of a second presence.

Tony was leaning against the kitchen counter, towel around his hips, and mustered him with unabashed approval. Somewhat embarrassed, Bruce was quick to hop to his feet and snatch his forgone shirt from the bed. He made a move to throw it over his shoulder in a semi-attempt to cover up. The other man continued to regard him and eventually whistled out loud.

“Holy beefcake – so that's your secret to being all buff and ripped lately?”  
Wayne pulled an abashed face and started to massage his left shoulder with one hand.  
"My back just felt like whack. I’m so not gonna spend another night on this bed of nails.”   

His grumpy mood got him a mock-sympathetic look in return before Tony threw yesterday's clothes into a gray bag in the corner, and strutted over to fetch some fresh laundry and socks from a drawer. Bruce disappeared inside the bathroom where he had to tiptoe around large puddles of water on the floor. After he, too, had showered and shaved, Tony pushed a bluish colored mug full of coffee into his hands.  
  
"Here, one for the road. We're gonna go to Max caffé for breakfast."  
  
As soon as Bruce had finished his coffee and put on clothes, Tony grabbed his keys and a pair of shades from the counter and motioned for his guest to follow him. Little less than 400 feet away, they settled down on the terrace of a small Italian coffee shop and splurged on sunshine, French Toast, and Sfogliatella; a flaky Italian pastry with cinnamon flavor and ricotta filling, as Tony told his clueless counterpart.

It was then that Bruce learned for the very first time about Tony's Italian ancestors. Silly grin on his face, the Gothamite would start to tease and mock-call him Antonio, until Tony told him in fluent Italian that Bruce was an ass and should stop nagging him, or he would get his behind kicked beyond belief. “Non oseresti mio amico, ma grazie comunque.“  
  
The second Tony's jaw near dropped to the floor caused Bruce to smirk behind his aviators. “Boarding school. I do admit though that my Italian's far worse than yours.” Still speechless, Stark pulled out a raddled wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He held up a hand when Bruce also dug for his money. “Forget about it – you're not dropping the intellectual bomb on me and still expect to pay.”

After feeling sufficiently stuffed by 11 AM, Tony wanted to show him around his neighborhood. They walked down Amsterdam Avenue up to W 87th Street where they turned onto Broadway because Tony wanted to get another coffee from the local Starbucks there. Equipped with two large to-go cups, they headed on to Central Park and rested their tired legs on a park bank.

Bruce marveled at the vastness of the city and told his company a bit about his hometown in return. Compared to the population of 18 million New Yorkers, Gotham City was a quaint village with an estimate of near 10 million inhabitants. On their way back to Tony's apartment, Bruce insisted on getting a room of his own, so Tony steered him towards a hotel on Morningside Avenue, a five-minute walk from his place.

A single room for 74 Dollar was the cheapest option available, but still far more expensive than Bruce had figured. He held his tongue in front of his comrade and only paid for two nights in advance, justifying it with a snippy comment about being able to flee, in case the bed would be as uncomfortable as Tony's. Inwardly, he knew all he needed to do was pick up the phone and give Alfred a call.

The butler would wire a tremendous amount within two days, but yet the young Gothamite refrained. He hated to be dependent upon his family's money which did not mean anything to him ever since he watched his parents die as a child. Another reason was that Bruce was not sure he could stand the utter disappointment in Alfred's voice when the butler heard he had gone to New York instead of Gotham.

+++

A little before 8 PM, the two of them went to get ready for the evening.

Bruce packed up his sparse belongings and walked the half a mile long way to his new hotel and back to get moved in. Once he was done, Tony awaited him downstairs, dressed in a smart casual combination of dark pants and a button-down shirt, jacket slung over one shoulder. Wayne felt awkward in his simple white t-shirt, faded jeans, and hooded jacket, but Tony did not seem to mind at all.

He started off into the direction of the subway and Bruce followed suit. “Where are we going?” Tony slipped his MetroCard through the turnstile before handing it over. “Rudy's Bar & Grill for some grub and the cheapest beers in NYC. Pep's gonna meet us there.” They took the tram line A up to a district called Hell's Kitchen. Bruce hated the public transportation system from the minute he set a foot inside but kept his opinion to himself.

After a good thirty minutes, they arrived at 42 Street and went the last few yards on foot. Rudy's was a traditional bar with a wooden door that had the owner's initials carved into. Before a confused Bruce Wayne could inquire about the six-foot porcelain pig outside, Tony dragged him inside. The bouncer greeted the Stark heir like he was part of the family, and turned a very blind eye on the still-minor Gothamite.

They got good seats at the large mahogany bar and placed their first orders. Tony laughed at the delight on Bruce's face when he realized the hot dogs were free with each order of drinks. Around 9:30, Pepper had not yet shown up, so Tony got on a phone in the restroom corner of the bar and tried to get a hold of his missing girlfriend.

From his spot at the bar, Bruce watched his comrade pressing a palm against the wall next to the rickety telephone with its twisted cord. Soon he wedged the receiver between his ear and shoulder to dig for his cigarettes. When Tony patted down front and back of his pockets with an irritated look on his face, Bruce snatched some matches from the bar, walked over and lit one up for him.

Stark's eyes briefly flew up at his thoughtful gesture, and Bruce very well overheard bits of a heated discussion. “No, Pep, that's not... now hold on a sec... what the heck's that supposed to mean?!” Politely, he backed out of hearing range again and reclaimed his bar stool. He then busied himself by finishing the remains of his Miller beer and his meanwhile cold, third hot dog.

The bartender Mike started telling Bruce some anecdote involving a 22-year-old Tony Stark and a young actor by the name of Woody Harrelson getting high as a kite in the restrooms. Just when the blaring jukebox in the corner prevented Bruce from getting more info on the outcome of said story, Mike was gone in a second, bopping along behind the counter to what could be identified as wailing blues or jazz.

Bruce eyed his comrade from afar again.

Tony was meanwhile pacing up and down in front of the phone, wildly gesticulating with the hand holding the cigarette in between taking the occasional drag. He must have felt Wayne's eyes on him, however, because soon after, Stark slammed the receiver down and crushed the stub underneath his shoe. Full of gloom and irritation he slipped back onto the stool next to Bruce and immediately groped for his beer.

“She ain't coming. Said she's just got home and is tired.”  
Bruce did not comment on the snarky way Tony used air quotes when he said the last word.  
“No worries, maybe next time.”

However hard Bruce tried to reassure him it really was not that big a deal, Tony was pissed.  
“Nah, Bats, ya don' understand. Imma head over to her place and settle this. Tonight.”  
Feeling like the evening had just spelled doom on itself, Bruce only shrugged his shoulders.

"Suit yourself. I'll walk back home and get some shuteye. Call me tomorrow.”  
Before he could slip into his jacket, however, Tony's hand clasped vise-like around his forearm.  
“Her parents live on the Upper East Side. Gonna catch a cab n drop you off at your place first.”

From the way he spoke, Tony was not one to argue with, so Bruce for once held his mouth and nodded. The fact that the Gothamite had already gone and settled their bill displeased Tony even further, and it became a silent, strained twenty-minute ride back to Morningside Avenue. Before Bruce slammed the door shut, he cast Tony a final look. “Don't stress things tonight, kay? Tomorrow's another day.”  
  
Caught up in his simmering anger, Tony just ground his jaw and motioned for the driver to go.  
Wayne stared after the cab until it went around the corner and fished for the keys to his room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non oseresti mio amico, ma grazie comunque - You wouldn't dare my friend, but thanks anyway  
> (My apologies if the Italian is whack - it was the best google translator could give me)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexy stuff in this one. Consider yourself warned.

_Fcuk this, why am I evn writin you a letter when you don wanna be n my life anymore?? all this time and all I get is a fucking 'sorry it doesn work out'?! Shit Pep, thought you were theone, thought we ahd somethin special..._

_Fuck_

He crammed both hands into the pockets of his hoodie sweater jacket and just stood there in the quiet of the night, feeling foolish and anxious at the same time. Glancing up the large apartment block, his eyes immediately found the dark window on the fifth floor. Bruce grimaced. He hoped Tony had found some time to reunite with his Pepper; from what he had overheard at the bar, things had not looked too bright.

After he had checked back into his hotel, his insomnia had caused him to sit and watch TV in bed for the longest time, until, around 2 AM, a strange phone call from Tony had prompted him to get up and get dressed once more. Stark had sounded disturbed and had rambled something Bruce had not understood until Tony hung up on him. A concerned Bruce Wayne stood in front of his apartment ten minutes later.  
  
All lights in Tony’s studio loft were off, however, and the Gothamite felt silly. 'Probably on a hot kiss-and-make-up date' he thought, angry at himself for jumping to conclusions. Bruce admitted he had felt a tug in his heart when Tony had wanted him to come to New York for the purpose of meeting his girl. It made him inevitably think about how he did not have somebody waiting for him, should he ever return to Gotham.

Mouth a grim line, Bruce was about to turn around and leave when the intercom squeaked out into the night. Then the familiar, though very slurred voice of the source of his problems spoke out to him. "Might as well come up 'n spy on me in person, Wayne." The connection got cut without waiting for his reply. Bruce frowned, but then Tony pressed the buzzer, and he sprinted forward to press the door open.

He took two stairs at once, all the way up to apartment no 135 where an open door greeted him, but no Tony. Frowning again, Bruce entered and closed the door behind him. Everything was dark, and he cursed along when his shin encountered some indefinable, hard object. He fumbled around for a switch to the downlights in the kitchen and found a brooding Tony Stark curled up in one of the wing chairs in the corner.

An empty bottle of bourbon sat next to the chair. Stark was already cradling a new, half-filled bottle in his lap and didn't turn around at his entry. "Thought you weren't home." Bruce's voice sounded terse whilst he sauntered nearer. When being offered no chair, he stood and hovered over his comrade with arms crossed before his chest. Tony dully stared past him, taking swigs from the bottle.

"Didn't keep ya from comin' anyway."  
Bruce barely made out the slurred words. The liquor sloshed inside the bottle.  
“She lef'me. No more Pepp'r.”

Then Tony let out a short, cruel laugh.  
“Had a ring, y'know? Bought a fuckin' ring for nuthin.”  
The Gothamite regarded him from where he stood, sympathy etched on his face.

“Fucking hell. I'm sorry, Tony.”  
Said man did not react and continued to down his alcohol like water.  
Bruce then reached out and took the bottle from the drunken man's grip without any preamble.

“...but I really think you've had enough of this for now.”  
Some liquor spilled on the floor. Tony glared up at him and put his sock-clad feet down.  
"Gimme that back, 's none o'ya business."

Bruce stood a little straighter as the other man made clumsy efforts to get out of the chair.  
It troubled Wayne to see him like that, and he tried to appear peaceful and calm himself.  
"Damn sure it is. Or should I rather take you to ER and have your stomach pumped?" 

His reasoning fell on deaf ears as Tony seemed hell-bent on starting a fight.  
"I _said_... gimme that damn bottle back, ya hear me, punk?"  
When Bruce shook his head no and turned around to dispose of the bottle, Stark moved.

Wayne sensed rather than saw his comrade lunging for him through the semi-dark. Only his quick reaction made him hurl the bottle aside mere seconds before Tony flung himself head forward into his back. With a dull thud, they crashed onto the wooden floor and Bruce had his hands full to get a grip on Tony's flailing extremities whilst not hurting his friend in the process.

He grunted after one of Stark's elbows wedged itself right below his eye, and decided he had played nice long enough. Using all of his weight and the moment in which his attacker felt the outcome of the alcohol kick in, Bruce gained momentum and managed to roll over until he was on top of the shorter man, pinning his hands next to his head, and Tony's kicking feet among his taller and heavier 6'1 frame.

For several minutes, they panted and coughed out loud into the night. Tony Stark seemed to have wasted all of his adrenaline and tried to blink his equilibrium back into control. When he opened his eyes, the face of his friend swam right into focus, together with a faint whiff of Bruce's familiar after-shave. Azzaro Chrome, Tony knew by heart. He swallowed, feeling shakier the longer he spent his time leveled on the floor.

Tony bit his lip hard, trying to ignore the feel of the body pressing him to the ground and the warm and labored breathing of his friend. When Bruce felt the man underneath him shiver, he loosened his grip on Tony's wrists a little and watched him squeeze his eyes shut. Since their escape from hell, the two of them had gotten to know each other on another level; they had grown from rivals into real friends.

Somewhere along those lines, Wayne had realized there was more to his feelings than just comradeship for the boyish-looking Anthony Stark with an amusing kind of crookedness up his sleeve. It certainly did not help matters at present. When he focused back on reality, Bruce noticed Tony was now studying him; eyes wide, unfocused, and brimming with unreadable emotions.

He realized they still had not moved an inch and tried hard to estimate the time that must have had passed since then. “Blown off enough steam already?” His voice was rough. It could not have been longer than two or three minutes since Tony stopped struggling against him, but to Bruce, it felt like half an hour. Feeling he might try to literally lift the situation, he cleared his throat and wanted to shift upwards.

“Why don' an'body ev'r lov'me, Bruce?”  
Heavy desperation resounded in Tony's voice. Bruce pressed his lips together and gave a quiet snort.  
“Stop talking bunk, Tony. C'mon, get up.”

The answer seemed not to satisfy his friend, and his brow furrowed anew.  
"If you gonna let go of me now, you'll be sorry."  
Tony's murmur through half-opened lips earned him a surprised glance.

For creditability, he started wiggling again and pushed against Bruce with effort. As a result, the latter instantly tightened his grip around Tony's arms and pressed him down until mere inches separated their faces. By now, Wayne had developed a position close to straddling his friend and was incredibly thankful the booze had dulled Stark's senses. "What the fuck, Tony, I'm not the enemy here. Get a grip."  
  
The throbbing pain from his right cheekbone did nothing to improve Bruce's mood in any way. He meanwhile almost matched the Captain in defiance. “Wish ya did.” Puzzled Bruce lessened his grip once again. “Did what?” Instead of an answer, Tony turned his head sideways and looked over to the windows. Mere moments later, he had no trouble giving in to the ten-pound weight that had landed upon his eyelids.

“... Tony?”

When there was no response, Bruce let go of Tony's left arm to take his chin in between three fingers and turn his face. With gritted teeth he realized his friend had fallen asleep on him, snoring softly and with the hint of distress upon his features. Wayne silently fumed, knowing well that there was no use in shaking him awake; Tony was out for the night and, at the same time, out for any kind of proper conversation.

While Bruce toyed with the idea of letting him spend an uncomfortable night down there on the floor, there was no doubt he would spend the night over at Stark's place. To leave his friend alone in such a situation was not an option. On a positive note, Bruce now welcomed being able to move without having to deal with his companion, who put up a quite fight even in his state of intoxication.

Once he was back on his feet, Bruce probed his cheekbone and muttered curses when it stung like crazy. "Don't think you'll be getting away by passing out, I swear you'll talk to me."

After shoving the blanket aside with one foot, Bruce carefully inched his load onto the mattress and started to remove Tony's socks. He hesitated at first, however, when reaching for the belt buckle. Even though Stark was not in the condition to cause any more harm, despite being the skilled martial arts fighter he was, young Wayne put his hands down and gnawed at his lip.

His mind was spinning with unfulfilled scenarios he thought he had banned from his head. Bruce kept on trying to distract himself while he fumbled with the buttons of Tony's scotch-stained shirt. After revealing the lean and tanned chest with the characteristic, whitish scars upon his ribcage, his inner restlessness returned with vigor, as soon as he had thrown the shirt aside.

The Gothamite mulled over possible ways to avoid awkward moments the next morning whilst removing his own socks and jeans. There was a fair chance he would wake before Tony and steal out of his apartment. Stark would be too hung-over to cause any more problems, and they could meet for coffee later that day to talk it over like normal people would.

+++

Just as Bruce Wayne had finally found a position to sleep in, three hours later, without being too close to the irritatingly warm body of the Captain, an arm flung itself across his chest. Tony twisted around in the sheets and then began to caress his abdomen in circular motions. Alarmed, Bruce's eyes snapped open and he froze, trying to remain unperturbed.

“Erm, Tony...” His voice came out a little strangled. He figured his friend was still so drunk to mistake him for his former girlfriend. At the first contact of their bare skins, when Tony's hand wormed itself underneath his shirt, the latter made a pleasant sound, and Bruce's heart started pounding. “Hey. Wake up, hey. I'm not Pepper.” At his strangled whisper, Tony stilled but remained asleep.

He relented to making muffled, incoherent sounds and would not let go of his chest, which made it difficult to put some space between them. Torn between getting up and sleeping in a wing chair, Tony’s hand suddenly tightened around Bruce's pecs. Part of Bruce erupted in panic as Tony’s warm, hairy legs entwined with his, and he got very aware of the growing arousal pressing itself into his rear.  
  
He tried to calm his own body that slowly but steadily began to react to the sudden and amorous tender loving care. “Love me, Bruce...” The Gothamite almost felt afraid to move; whether it was to not wake Tony, or to not let the moment vanish, should it just be a dream after all. He felt like time stood still and hardly moved a muscle for at least fifteen minutes after Stark’s incoherent revelation.

Careful, Bruce covered the callused hand with his own and tested out the feeling of the others man’s body so close to his. Tony then started to nuzzle into his neck, smelling of scotch and Old Spice and began to cover the exposed nape of his company with something in between soft licks, kisses, and bites. Wayne's eyes flickered shut and he squeezed Tony's hand before he gently steered it lower, until...

… Tony bolted upright, slung back the covers, and stumbled over into the direction of the bathroom.

Bruce heard him retching into the bowl soon after. With a groan, he turned onto his back and pressed his head into the pillow. As soon as he trusted his own arousal to be tamed down, he de-tangled himself from the sheets and headed for the bathroom, needing to empty his bladder. Tony had not locked the door, so he knocked twice before he entered to flushing sounds.

The other man was already back on his feet, rinsed his mouth with collutorium, and cast him a contrite glance over his shoulder. From the slight stagger, Bruce could see that Tony still was inebriated. “Ugh, sorry. Still feel like shit.” Wayne shrugged off any further apology by stepping up to the toilet to relieve himself, just as Stark disappeared in the shower and turned on the water.

After he flushed and went to wash his hands, Bruce tried hard not to stare at the naked silhouette inside the glass cabin as he also gargled with a burning mouthful of Listerine and spit the remains into the sink. When he looked back up, Tony's eyes were on him. “Can you hand me the shower gel over there?” Tony pointed a dripping finger into the direction of a shelf.

Bruce complied and opened the door to hand the bottle over. Before he was able to retreat, however, two hands pulled him inside, making him near stumble and fall. His shirt and briefs immediately began to darken with moisture. Dismayed, the Gothamite attempted to pull free underneath the torrent of water. Strong fingers curled into his soaked through shirt and held him in place.

“Fuck, Tony!”  
Dark brown, hooded eyes fixated him.  
“Yeah, precisely.”

When their mouths met for the first time, it was all frantic and wet. There were teeth scraping against teeth, and hands clawing the remains of Wayne's clothes off until they were a soggy heap on the tiled floor. Bruce groaned into Tony's mouth and leaned back against the glass of the steamy shower cabin when the shorter man went down on him.

With his fists full of dark, luscious hair, Bruce moaned out loud when Tony finished him off in an indecent, too short amount of time. A triumphant, lascivious grin was plastered on Stark's face as he rose to his feet while his guest still gathered his bearings. He turned around to adjust the temperature of the water but was not prepared for the strong, lean body which slammed him into the corner soon after.

Bruce's hand wrapped itself around his own prominent arousal, and Tony dampened down a cry of ecstasy when he started to stroke him. Through the haze of his building orgasm and the staccato of running water, Stark heard a dark, breathless voice next to his ear. “I'm not gonna be your sympathy fuck.” Tony panted out mumbled negations, alternating with affirmations of lust, until Bruce bit into the sensitive flesh of his neck.

His world exploded in bright colorful hues and stars.

+++

After their shower, two young, subdued men sat next to each other on the kitchen stools and stared into their respective beverages. Bruce's damp bangs left droplets of water on the counter while he twirled a glass of orange juice in between his fingers. Tony's elbows were propped up as he massaged both his temples; occasionally groaning and sipping on his aspirin flavored water.

“Now what?”

At Bruce's quiet question, Tony scratched an unshaven cheek. “Some more sleep sounds good if you ask me.” Baffled and indignant at the same time, the younger man cast him a sideways glance. “That wasn't what I meant.” It elicited a small snort from his comrade. “Figured. Still, it's the best I can give right now – feel free to join me.” Tony slid down the stool in slow motion and trotted back over to his bed.

Bruce glanced at the clock on the wall. 07:07 and a Sunday. He briefly mulled over the fact he had to move out of his hotel by 11 and had not made up his mind where to stay for the remaining days. Then he, too, rose from his chair and slowly went up to where Tony regarded him with bedroom eyes. When he pulled the blanket aside, Bruce knew where to spend the upcoming three and a half hours.

The second time they got intimate was a whole lot different than the first.

With most of the raw need gone, their kisses were a lot more tender and probing. Tony was an eager kisser and loved to test out the feel and the taste of the other man's mouth and tongue. It did however not take them too long until they were all over each other again; undressing and making out. The second time they pleasured each other got Tony to climax only seconds before Bruce.

They lay sated side by side afterward, panting and unmindful of the wet spots in between. “That way neither of us will get any sleep.” Wayne's voice was breathless, to which Tony smiled a satisfied, lazy smile. “Not the most romantic way of saying you wanna cuddle up, but whatevs. C'mere.” With Tony spooning from behind, Bruce soon fell asleep to the birds singing outside and the distant traffic sounds of New York.

He woke from his pleasant slumber when callused fingertips traced the splotch on his cheekbone. “Gotcha good there, m'sorry.” Ever so slightly, Bruce turned his head away. “S'alright, you weren't thinking straight last night. Shit happens.” Tony gave a meek smile and tugged his hand back underneath his head. “Feel like that addresses a lot of issues there. Maybe we should talk about it”  
  
Wayne's eyes held a guarded expression all of a sudden. Tony's lips twitched. “I can practically see the alarm bells over your head there, but hold your fire, will ya. I just wanna say – first of all: About the straight-thinking thing... yeah, I give you that, but the whole Pepper thing just sucker-punched me hard.” The Gothamite pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod. Stark then cocked his head.  
  
“Still... this here hasn't been what you so aptly called a sympathy fuck – at least not for me.”  
  
When Bruce did not react, Tony was quick to roll on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. Two hazel eyes regarded him with interest, even if the rest of Wayne's face remained stoic. Tony wiggled on until there was no more blanket separating them, and enjoyed the brief moment when their direct skin contact caused Bruce's eyelids to flutter shut.

“It's safe to say you know by now I've been around the block couple of times; both directions. It's also safe to say this isn't a problem for you, or I'd be alone since sunrise. Other than that, I'd like to try and make this work, and, call me arrogant, but so do you. Am I right?” Wayne moved until he was able to free his arms from underneath Tony's deadweight and ran a hand through his hair.

Molten brown eyes followed his every move. Then Bruce pursed his lips. “It's not a thing to shout from the rooftops around base as you, probably already, know as well.” Tony made a dismissive sound and rolled his eyes. He shifted his weight onto one elbow. “It's not like a lot of the guys don't swing both ways, but yeah, on the down low's fine.” The face of Steve Rogers popped up before Bruce's inner eye.

It must have played on his features because Tony placed both hands left and right of his head and frowned. “What? What did I say to get that sourpuss-y look again?” Hazel eyes fixated him. “Takes one to know one, of course.” Puzzled Tony tilted his head. Bruce hated to be unable to hide his underlying jealousy. “I've seen the way Rogers looks at you. If you two ever have been... I mean, I don't wanna...”  
  
Before Wayne could become too entangled in his awkwardness Tony silenced him with a kiss. Once he pulled back, however, he could not hold back a hearty laugh. “Steve-O? My gosh, never. I mean, I've figured out somethin' like that a while ago, but...” He ground his pelvis into Bruce's and felt the first tender stirrings his ministrations created. “... I'm into the tall, dark and brooding guys with a hotheaded attitude.”  
  
Bruce's fingers slipped back under the covers and cupped Tony's ample rear. “I'm not brooding.” His voice was already heavy with lust. Before Tony was able to comment on his cockiness, Bruce gained momentum and levered him onto his back. Any further comment of his comrade fell short.

+++

The following week became one of the best in his life, Bruce decided.

Once his initial fear and mistrust of being Tony's latest one-night stand had ebbed off, they spent nearly all of their free time cooped up in Stark's studio loft, as if to make up for all the unresolved sexual tension of the previous months. Still, Wayne had his doubts about being able to spark the interest of his elder and far more experienced comrade long enough to become more than just friends with benefits.

His own history with same-sex experiences totaled up to the occasional teenage boarding school fling; it had left Bruce Wayne even more confused about his feelings than before. With Tony, everything was different right from the get-go. Stark was a hurricane, both in and out of the sheets. He could be boorish, spiteful and arrogant, only to be cuddly, sensual and extremely needy for affection within the next five minutes.

During their time together, Tony came to get to know the real Bruce Wayne. And he realized how the person behind all the pretense and the gloom had somehow found a way inside his wayward heart. Even if he was nothing short of erratic, oftentimes insecure and withdrawn to a point that drove Tony nuts, Bruce was also loyal, possessive and untamed in his feelings.

Despite all of his widely tested out sexuality, Tony wanted them both to remember every single detail of their tender relationship and to keep on adding memories to their list with each new day. Like the first time Bruce went down on him on his own accord, and he had to press his hips firmly into the mattress. Like the first time when he made love to Bruce, and especially the first time when he felt Bruce inside of him.

Through the haze of rapture, Tony remembered what a magnificent sight to behold his lover was. Eyes closed and biting his bottom lip at each thrust, deep in concentration, it was the sound of Bruce's voice as he came with a shuddering “Oh God, Tony!” that carved itself deep into Stark's mind. When he followed him over the edge, Tony vaguely remembered how he could not prevend an “I love you” to slip from his mouth.

That memory was a risky one.

Emotions like those usually were the last thing he allowed to show through, no matter with whom, and especially after their short and intense time together. It all was worth it, in the end, when sparks blazed up in those guarded, hazel eyes. The sensual way Bruce kissed him afterward, shyly repeating the words without looking at him, had sealed the deal. 

As of that day, the framed picture of Pepper vanished from Tony's shelf.

Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne returned to their squadron as an item mid-September; separated only by the nature of things that was called standard military procedure. Hiding their relationship would be tough after over a week of nonstop intimacy and being head over heels, so they set up some rules about no physical contact during active duty. A clear head before getting airborne was vital to their individual lives.

Nevertheless, familiar faces around them saw the difference in them both, even if just to a certain extent.

Their ability to work side by side like clockwork in the heat of battle first became routine, then legendary. Where Wayne managed to ground the impetuous Stark, Tony would constantly challenge and spur Bruce on to make the best out of his talents. Captain Steve Rogers still had not gotten over his aversion for Wayne, but at least he was man enough to honor the latter's vastly improved skills and abilities. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to up the ante a little: (minor) angst and sexual scenes ahead.

_Attn. Colonel Nick Fury  
Promotion Eligibility / Subject: Wayne, Bruce - D.O.B. 02/19/77_

_Following the Defense Officer Personnel Management Act of 1980, Second Lieutenant Bruce Wayne has officially been promoted in the primary zone. Target Selection Rate: All Fully Qualified. Officer Wayne goes from grade O1 to grade O2 / First Lieutenant in the USAF._

_Arlington County, Virginia, 28 th August 1997_

_Department of the Air Force, c/o  
Department of Defense_

 

Within the course of the following thirteen months, Bruce matured fast.

His hard work and dedication led to an eventual promotion to First Lieutenant and was as much of a safe bet as it was an important milestone of his impending career. He took it all straight-faced and with a firm handshake and salute when Colonel Fury presented him with his new insignia. Needless to say, Tony was even more ecstatic about Bruce's promotion than the Gothamite himself, fueled by an inner state of happiness.

Despite being the younger one, Bruce came to learn he was doing a much better job than Tony in being strict about their mutual agreement of no physical contact around base. Captain Stark usually took it as some kind of challenge and got his kicks out of stealing the occasional grope or kiss from his boyfriend when he was certain no one was watching.

The "You got promoted" party Tony threw for him at The Jet Fuel the weekend after became a turning point.  
It came over them like a tornado on September 6 in 1997 and brought out all of those lingering discrepancies.  
Ultimately, it turned into the first, real quarrel of their clandestine relationship.

Far into the merry celebration, Tony Stark was hammered beyond belief, and a lot pushier than usual. When he began to shove his hand down the front of Bruce's pants in public, the younger man made several attempts to ward him off. Persistent, Tony kept on clinging to him, his breath hot on Bruce's face, as he sweet-talked, purred and groped on; the slur in his voice and the stagger in his step unmistakeable.

Afraid of being watched, and even more angered at his lover's lack of self-control, Bruce did not, as expected, cave in at Tony's subconscious, emotional manipulations. Instead, he used most of his still fairly sober mindset to express his chagrin at Stark's immature behavior. It was some kind of liberation movement at the worst of times because the shift from a horny Tony to a furious Tony was fluent.  
  
At some point, Bruce then had to take things outside, to avoid causing a scene amidst the party, and that was when all hell broke loose. There was a lot of yelling at first, followed by physical violence in the form of pushing and shoving. Things went up to the point where Steve Rogers had to drag a flailing Tony Stark away from a flushed Bruce Wayne, who kept on raging on in Clint Barton's grip like a madman.

Neither of their comrades knew the true reasons why the evening had ended in fisticuffs, but the last words Tony Stark yelled back at Bruce Wayne, face smeared with dust and blood from where he had bitten his tongue, were abundantly clear.

They were done after that.  
No more joint mission supervisions, no more team meeting plannings.  
No more furtive, longing glances across the tarmac, no more anything.

From one day to the other, Bruce Wayne ceased to exist as far as Tony Stark was concerned.

To the outer world, the change was palpable and severe; the so-called dynamic duo had stopped being indestructible. No sooner that Captain Stark went and requested First Lieutenant Barton as his new wingman two weeks after their breakup, it left a devastated First Lieutenant Wayne to try and make things work with Captain Rogers, of all people.

Needless to say, both Tony and Bruce suffered, but at the same time continued to spiral the whole thing further and further into the ground. While Tony survived on snappy remarks, a lot of booze and minimal sleep, Bruce threw himself into work – be that in the gym or in the field.

Either way, the dark bags under their eyes grew just as fast as the emptiness in their hearts. When getting up in the mornings became almost too much to bear, the Gothamite did what had been on his mind for the past weeks – he applied for a transfer to another base. The look Colonel Nick Fury had cast him upon his request hovered between disbelief and consternation.

Even though Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes refrained from playing mediator after Stark had growled at him to mind his own business, James still made the effort to come round Tony's workshop one evening mid-October and found his best friend where he usually hid away in his lonely sanctum. The Captain did not turn around from where he was busy bludgeoning his F-16 with a screwdriver.

“Just wanted to let you know I'm filing Wayne's apply for transfer by the end of the month.” Rhodey very well saw Tony's whole body go rigid for a split second. When the mechanic did not give a reply and continued to unscrew the avionics in silence, James exhaled. “Whatever this means, I hope it's for the best.”

Tony Stark made sure his friend had left the workshop before he swung around and began to haul each and every tool from inside the box at the other, abandoned F-16 in the corner. He relished the loud metallic, crashing sounds they made when they bounced off the aircraft's hull.

+++

On October 29, Iraq demanded US citizens working inside UNSCOM inspections teams to leave the country immediately.

The country's threat to shoot down U2 surveillance planes put Nick Fury's squadron on standby, and F-16 teams were continuously patrolling the sector. Rogers and Wayne were just returning from their uneventful patrol south of Baghdad when they received info about Stark and Barton being in trouble further north. Captain Rogers held up two fingers and pointed ahead, to which Bruce nodded.

“Sector is under heavy anti-aircraft gunfire, keep a lookout.” He glanced at the integrated control panel and flipped a switch, stomach feeling wonky. The comm crackled as Rogers confirmed. When they reached the area in question, Barton's voice greeted them over the line sounding distressed. “Bout damn time. Iron's gonna get us killed up here.” Another crackle. “Easy Hawkeye, ya know ya can trust me. S why you got my back.”  
  
Behind his visor, Bruce's eyes narrowed. Before he would let Tony's snide remark get to him, something else on the HUD caught his attention. “Freedom, there's two MiG-25's approaching!” Rogers swore in his ear, a rare sound from the otherwise level-headed flight leader. “What? Shit! What's their position? Goddammit, we're way low on gas already.” Wayne glimpsed at his readouts again. “220 miles and bearing 010.“

It was then that ground control chimed in and told all of them to drop out. Captain Tony Stark, however, was having none of it. “Here's where the fun begins, boys. Bring him back, Hawkeye, hard right. Help me engage.” Barton did not immediately respond, torn between questioning or executing a direct order. That was when Lieutenant Wayne interfered. “Fuck it, Iron, you've got no fuel for a hassle, what the hell!”  
  
Bruce's teeth hurt from the force he was grinding his jaw with. “Shut it, I know what I'm doin. Going for missile lock!” It was the first words they had spoken to each other ever since their fall-out, eight weeks ago. It was not the words Bruce had wanted to hear out of the Captain's mouth, and he had no choice but to watch on in silent horror as Tony pulled one reckless stunt after another right in front of him. 

Mayne times, his Viper was close to getting shot out of the sky, missing a deadly shot only by a hairsbreadth. Part of Bruce wanted to intervene, wanted to take Barton's place and make sure to get his ex-lover out alive. That was when fate finally had mercy on them. "MIG one's bugging out!" Rogers' voice displayed the relief Bruce felt as they watched the enemy aircraft disengage. "MIG two is headed home as well!"

“You're instructed to land _immediately!_ That's an order!”  
Lieutenant-Colonel James Rhodes' voice left no room for interpretation.  
The four of them made it back to base safe and sound, albeit on vapor, as Steve put it.  
  
Tony Stark got convened for an immediate meeting with the brass, the second he exited his aircraft. Rogers and Barton, still agitated by the events, tried to coax Wayne into having a drink with them. He brusquely waved them off and went to pace around the hanger, full of adrenaline. When he saw Stark's jumpsuit-clad figure leaving Fury's office, Bruce followed his fast stride over to the lavatories without hesitation.

The shower stall was empty and quiet, except for water steadily dripping down the drain somewhere. With a loud bang, Bruce slammed the door slammed shut behind him. Tony did not even flinch, yet turn around. Instead, he fiddled with the zipper near his neck.

“Are you _fucking insane?”_

When no reaction followed the hissed out question, Bruce threw his helmet into the corner where it landed with a crashing sound. Tony then yanked the upper part of the jumpsuit down to his waist and swung around. Despite his pale, sweated countenance he wore a taunting expression. 

“Just go to hell, will ya.”   
Raw emotions crossed the Gothamite's face as he zeroed in on him.   
“I'm already there, you asshole.” 

Something like scorn flickered in Tony's eyes at the way Bruce's usually serene voice rose and near cracked. “Cry me a fuckin river. I don't need this guilt-tripping shit from a guy I used to fuck with.”  
  
Hot white rage then flashed through the younger Lieutenant's body and mind. In an instant, Bruce Wayne lunged for the shorter man, grabbed him by his sweat-soaked shirt and slammed him backward into the tiled wall of the nearest shower cabin. Hazel eyes, dangerous and belligerent, warred with dark brown ones. 

“You could've bitten the dust up there, you bastard - for NOTHING!”

Tony's hands went up to claw at Wayne's wrists. His heart beat hard and fast against his chest as he tried to free himself. He felt how very strong Bruce had grown; not just in physical but also in mental strength. As realization hit him just how much Bruce would continue to grow stronger somewhere else soon, a huge part inside of Tony felt utterly empty and defeated. 

There was nothing left to say; nothing left to do.

“I don't give a shit anymore, Wayne, got that?”  
Bruce tightened his grip even more and shook him twice. His face was twisted with despair.  
“But _I_ do, you selfish motherfucker!”

When strength failed him, Tony did the first thing on his mind. He crushed his lips onto Bruce's.

Half-expecting the young Lieutenant to knock him out, Tony gave a guttural moan when Bruce responded with an equally aggressive kiss. Their mouths and tongues began to battle for dominance whilst frantic hands started to tug and tear at each other's clothes. It was against all of their previous rules, it was dangerous beyond belief, but at that moment, their need prevailed.

Bruce took him up standing, jumpsuits pooling at their feet, braced against the wall of the shower stall. 

Tony wanted it fast and hard, so with liquid soap as a makeshift lubricant and his right hand wrapped around Tony's arousal, Bruce finished both of them off in little to no time. He had to bury his head into the juncture of Tony's neck to muffle the sound of his own climax and felt the other man spasm into his hand no second later. As he stood there, panting and shivering, something in the young Gothamite snapped.

When his catharsis released itself, Bruce clenched his arms around Tony's midriff and began to weep soundlessly into the crook of his neck, his whole body shaking from gut-wrenching sobs. As soon as Tony was able to form a conscious thought again, the first thing he felt was the damp spot on his shoulder. “Fuck, why do I need you... why do I need you so much... don't wanna need you anymore...”  
  
At the desperation in Bruce's voice, Tony felt his own eyes start to sting. With slow, deliberate movements he withdrew from their intimate connection and twisted in his embrace. Only after he managed to rid them both of their grimy clothes, locked the door and turned on the water, Tony allowed his own tears to fall as he held Bruce tight underneath the tepid stream, kissing trembling lips for the very last time.

First Lieutenant Bruce Wayne left base a day later, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and aviator shades on to conceal tired, red-rimmed eyes. His goodbyes to former teammates were kept short, seeing that Tony Stark himself did not even show up at all. Instead, the mechanic locked himself away in his workshop and drank until he was unable to stand up, let alone walk.

 


	11. Chapter 11

_Iraq, December 1998_

_Hey Bats,_  
_dunno if you're still going by that, but whatevs – t'is the season, so yeah, here's me wishin' you Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year._

 _Best,_  
_T._

  
Bruce stood at the post office at Balad Air Base and stared at the familiar if a bit rushed scribbling. When some officers from behind started to protest at him blocking the queue, he was quick to move out of the way. With a vengeance, all memories he had pushed to the very back of his head came rushing back as he leaned against a closed counter and allowed his thoughts to wander back for the first time in months.

He remembered how his body, mind, and soul had palpably ached for Tony weeks and weeks on end after their break-up. How he still felt the raging jealousy and utter helplessness inside of him upon seeing the Stark side closer with Rogers again; not only during their missions but also during their spare time. And he very well recognized that feeling of loneliness which had accompanied him all the way to Balad.

And yet, despite everything, Bruce Wayne also knew he still wished to be able to turn back time.  
Wished to take back all that had been said and done between them.  
Knew he still loved and longed for Tony, as irrelevant and irrational that notion was.

The two of them had not seen or spoken to each other, ever since Bruce left Al Asad about a year ago.

Many times, Wayne had circled the payphones in the corner, had sat before a blank piece of paper and ghosted a pen across it. It did not help matters that he never received any letters or phone calls in return. However, thanks to word-of-mouth, in which a certain Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes played a non-too small part, Wayne at least knew about Tony's overall well-being.

With a small sigh, Bruce stuffed the letter back into its envelope and left the post office.

When Colonel Michael Cote had taken the young Gothamite under his wing in November 1997, he was quick to realize the potential Wayne inhabited. He put him up for a steep career path towards promotion for the rank of Captain. Bruce took his second chance and began to work like a machine; a ruthless, callous machine. In no time, he became successful and versatile without emotional attachment to anything or anybody.

Amongst many other things, he earned himself an Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal, the Air Force Commendation Medal as well as the Combat Readiness Medal for his most recent part in Operation Desert Fox. December 1998 saw Bruce and a team of F-16 fighters heading straight into the no-fly zones and effectively bomb the sites after Iraq's failure to comply with UNSC Resolutions.

When his superiors put him up with another fighter pilot by the name of Clark Kent, all of Bruce's inner alarm bells began to go off at once.

Colonel Cote, however, reassured him the days of him flying wingman status only were gone. Instead, Captain Kent was supposed to supervise Bruce at taking the role of flight leader slowly but surely, despite still lacking rank. At twenty-two, he was only one year older than Bruce himself but mature beyond belief. Born and raised in Kansas, Clark was brave and kindhearted with a strong sense of justice, morality, and righteousness.

His physical stats were nothing short of impressive either: At 225 lbs and 6'3, he was graced with cornflower blue eyes, a strong jawline, and jet-black hair. In short, he was the embodiment of perfection, and everything Bruce Wayne was not looking for. Still, the two men were quick to bond on a solid comradeship and established a new level of efficient aerial combat.

Bruce had not forgotten whom he owned many of his skills to. The way he paired them with his own ruthless and battle-hardened way of flying by now, however, made him even more dangerous and unpredictable. In an unspoken way, he valued having Clark by his side after all. Kent provided the perfect counterbalance to his daring ways and even succeeded in getting him to come out of his shell once a while.

+++

On January 5th, four Iraqi MIG-25s crossed into the no-fly zone and sparked aerial combat with two US Air Force F-16 Falcons and two US Navy F-14 Tomcats. Seeing both F-14 were short on fuel, they had to disengage from dogfight long before reinforcement in the form of Kent and Wayne reached the area in question, thus leaving two outnumbered F-16's behind. After assessing the situation, Clark passed on a lead change signal.

“Bats 2, you have the lead on the left. This one's yours.”  
Bruce raised his hand in standard response and went into motion.  
“Bats 2, check for Bats 1. Help me engage, Steel.”

Kent watched his comrade's F-16 overrun his own aircraft with a precise rolling motion.  
“Steel 2, affirmative. Happy hunting.”  
The Gothamite narrowed his eyes and re-gripped his throttle.

Before the enemy fighters were able to escape back north, they found themselves engulfed in the blazing fire of Bruce's 6-barreled M61A1 vulcan cannon. At 6,000 rounds per minute, Wayne kept a relentless finger on the trigger during his vicious chase. Impassive he watched on as his actions prompted three MIG pilots to eject from their exploding aircraft one by one.

No sooner than the last enemy jet realized the odds had shifted and fled the scene, Clark's calm voice rang through his headphones, controlled and level-headed as usual. “I just love it when you've got your fangs out, Bats. Feeling a bit generous today?” Bruce flipped a switch inside his F-16, mouth forming an unemotional smirk of victory. “Another day, another ticket punched, Steel. Let the poor bastard tell the tale at home.”

From the corner of his eye, Wayne then saw one of the two other fighter jets angle up until they both were at the same level. His comm rustled as another connection keyed its way in. “... Bats? That really you?” A chill went through Bruce's whole body at the familiar sounding voice. He glanced to his right. “... Iron?” The person underneath the oxygen mask then tipped his helmet in a casual two-finger salute.  
  
“You betcha! Fuckin hell, I shall be damned. Hey Freedom, guess who just bailed us out!” Over the sound of his fast beating heart, Bruce heard Steve Rogers talk from far away. The only voice he really paid attention to then took over again as Tony gave a quiet curse. “Damn, we're running low ourselves. Gotta light the fires and get back home.” Stark's voice, while smooth and cocky as usual, held a fair tinge of regret.

“Gonna catch up next time, Batster?” 

The subliminal hope resounded heavily in Bruce's ears. A sudden urge to follow Tony and look at him in the flesh was strong, but the Gothamite managed to keep his voice flat. “Affirmative. Check six on your RTB.” For the briefest moment, there was silence over the radio. They were still on visual until Tony dipped his jet low. 

“Wilco and ditto, buddy. And, um... Bruce... clear skies, ya hear?”

The way Tony pronounced his name played in Bruce's head over and over, long after Captain Stark had barreled out of his line of view with a skillful turn to the right until he and Rogers disappeared on the horizon and left some impressive vapor trails behind. 

Always the considerate one, Clark kept conversation to a minimum after realizing his teammate was lost in thought. Their flight back to base was quiet and uneventful and they touched down at Balad around zero-dark-thirty.

Glad to be able to postpone the tactical mission report to the next day, Bruce left his jet in the capable hands of ground control and walked along with Clark all the way back towards their barracks. The taller man side-eyed him from time to time but said nothing. After their brief time together, Clark Kent had gotten used to the brooding introvert that was Bruce Wayne and knew when to let him be.

Bruce nodded into Clark's direction as the latter wished him a good night, and dragged his tired body into the shower. For the most time, he just stood there, let hot water pelt down onto his head and shoulders, and stared into nothingness. When his eyes closed on their own accord and the face of Tony Stark popped up in his mind, Bruce used what vivid memories he had while he pleasured himself for the first time in weeks.

+++

Back at Al Asad, a silent Tony Stark sat opposite his best friend in the latter's office. Ankles crossed and feet up on a nearby chair, he chewed in steady motion on a meanwhile stale piece of gum. His fatigue began to seep through, the longer he sat and did nothing. “Damn he was good, Rhodey, you should've seen him. Like a fuckin'... Terminator or something.” Even as he spoke, Tony stared at something on the wall, unblinking.

“From what I've heard he's about to make it to Captain sooner than assumed.” A mechanical nod was his answer. James clicked his pen and shoved the mission report file over the desk. “Anyways. You should get some shuteye now, Tones, you look real tired.” The chair creaked as the Lieutenant-Colonel rose and grabbed another dossier from the closet. “Uh-huh, yeah. Hey listen, platypus, I need you to do me a li'l favor...”  
  
From where he sat, Tony tilted his head far back to look at his friend. Rhodes' eyebrows rose in exasperation and Tony had to grin at the upturned image he presented. “Cut it out, I'm already going out on a limb each and every time I'm getting you all this intel. I won't get a stalker rep by prying Gordon for even more details about him. Just sign the damn report already, get the heck out of my office and into your bunk.”

Head shaking, Tony sat back up straight and snatched a pen from the desk. When he had obediently signed his name under the final protocol, he got up and stuffed the pen into the breast pocket of James' uniform with a pat. His friend eyed him with suspicion. Tony grinned.

“All I want you to do is get me a ticket into Balad. I know there's gonna be a meeting of you high-and-mighties over there, seeing that Wayne and his fellow jock blasted three MIG's outta our air domain. Piece of cake, really. We got ourselves a deal here?” James Rhodes cast him a disparaging glare. “That's the most fucked up idea you've recently had, Tones. Forget about it. You're nuts.”  
  
Despite their tiredness, two large brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “Whenever your voice gets that screechy, high-pitched sound you're running outta ways to say no, platypus. It's gonna be all fancy and stuff, you're gonna wear the bluesies with all the fruit salad attached to it, and Imma be your plus one. Thanks in advance! Nighty night.” The door slammed shut behind him before Rhodes could utter another word.

The stare he cast heavenwards begged for enough patience to overcome the urge to strangle his best friend.

+++

Captain Stark and Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes arrived at Balad Air Base five days later in their respective uniforms.

Vice commander Jim Gordon, a man in his late-forties with glasses and a neatly trimmed mustache, welcomed them on a cool late Wednesday afternoon, mid-January. “Gentlemen. Quite uncommon to get such formal visits after a successful air combat mission.” James cast his friend a sideways glance to which Tony's standardized smile grew even more.

“Quite uncommon for a former wingman to save my hide, so that calls for attendance, methinks.”

Commander Gordon threw him a peculiar look before he ushered them inside. While he and Rhodes went through the administrative procedures of analyzing the previous combat situation and wrapping up necessary reports, it left Tony to wander around base alone. He inspected the aircraft shelters, an eye out for a certain Lieutenant from Gotham. No such luck, he got summoned into the auditorium by Rhodey an hour later.  
  
“They're going to introduce us to the flight leader of the squadron, then we're headed back.”  
Tony rubbed his meanwhile cold palms into the thin fabric of his uniform and grimaced.  
“Much ado bout nothing.”

“Slim chances, Tones, like I said. And Gordon told me he was out patrolling at night, so...” Rhodey left the rest of his sentence up in the air, and Tony felt a deep sense of disappointment settle inside of him. The rest of the evening had lost its appeal, and all he wanted to do was get into the C-17 Boeing and head back to base. Tony scowled around his third glass of tonic water and watched the room starting to fill with people.

Soon, Commander Gordon reappeared at Rhodes' left side. “Lieutenant-Colonel, meet Captain Clark Kent. He was the flight leader on January 5th.”

While Rhodes shook hands with the young officer, his best friend could not help but stare. Kent was taller than him by a head, disgustingly handsome, and moreover of the polite kind. Cynical 5'8'' Tony Stark hated him that instant and displayed a forced smirk when they got introduced.

“Wow hey, they even build vipers for American Gladiators. Geez, Nitro, what are you – 6'6''?”  
Much to his anger, Kent actually laughed at that and waved him off, completely unaffected.  
“As long as I can get the canopy to close, I'm good I guess. Pleasure to meet you, Captain Stark.”

Tony played ball for another five minutes, in which Kent seemed to express genuine interest in hearing all about Stark's legendary inheritance and his notable skills as a fighter pilot. In dire need of something real to drink, said Stark then excused himself to head for the catering station. He removed his cap, ran a hand through matted hair, and examined the sparse list of beverages.

Two minutes later he stood and curled freezing fingers around a cup of hot, black coffee instead of scotch. After the first sip, Tony pulled a face and decided he was better off warming his hands than wrecking his stomach. He went on overlooking the ugly meeting hall and froze when he spotted a familiar outline. Lieutenant Bruce Wayne, decked out in full regalia, had just skipped down the few stairs into the auditorium.

With briskness in his stride, Wayne headed straight for the little group that consisted of Rhodes, Gordon, and Kent. Tony was unable to properly look at him from afar, with most of Bruce's face hidden beneath his combination cap. What he could see was how the Gothamite stood tall, taller than Tony remembered him to be, and marched through the crowd with squared shoulders and an air of superiority.

When he had reached the three officers, Bruce gave a crisp nod to both Gordon and Rhodes, before he acknowledged the Captain with a brief pat on the back. Kent broke out in a delighted grin as he, in turn, grabbed Bruce by the shoulders, almost like a hug. The way he shook him with the air of a proud brother while he spoke to the two superiors caused the Gothamite to lower and shake his head in apparent embarrassment.

Tony's fingers clenched around the plastic cup after he had almost dropped it. “C'mon, turn around for me, Bruce, let me see your face...” Behind him, a server clinked with tableware and Tony felt caught, mumbling to himself. He disposed of the cup with the acidic concoction and began to fumbled and fiddle with the loosened knot of his tie he had pulled askew, trying to get it back in place.

With a glorious, fake grin at the service staff, he snatched his forgotten cap from the table and faced the four men. Just then, Tony saw Rhodey point into his direction. He was sure everybody in the room would hear the sound of his pounding heart when Bruce spotted him, 50 feet away. It took a lot of effort for Tony to apply all of his usual swagger as he made his way over to the small group, eyes locked firmly on Wayne.

The Gothamite's features remained frozen, without a single, decipherable emotion. In no time, they were face to face, and Tony was sure he felt the ground moving underneath. Bruce had grown into an even more formidable young man than Tony's genius mind could recall. His face had further lost its adolescent touch and instead left him with sharp, chiseled angles and prominent cheekbones to die for.

Another significant change were Bruce's eyes. They were darker than normal, which might have been due to the lighting in the hall. Most of all, however, they also seemed colder, even detached, upon closer examination. It was then that Tony decided to spring into action. 

“Surprise, surprise! A very good evening to you, Bats.” Arms spread open wide in an over-exaggerated welcoming gesture, Tony gave a wolfish grin. He wedged his hat underneath his left arm, about to extend his hand.

Bruce Wayne simply continued to stand at ease, arms clasped behind his back, and just gave a slight tilt of his head. “Captain Stark, for the second time in a week. I call shenanigans.” Taken aback by the verbal lambaste and impassive reaction, the grin on Tony's face froze. He heard Clark Kent chuckle and saw Gordon suppress a faint grin.

From the corner of his eye, Tony noticed how Rhodey stole a glimpse at him, gauging his reaction. He did not have to wait long. “Well yeah, I wanted to make sure Balad hasn't gone and brainwashed all their viper jocks into mindless, robotic killer machines. Cause, hot damn, if that's the case someone should definitely speak to my old man's company back home - and put the Terminator prototype into serial production.”

An uneasy silence erupted in which Bruce's unblinking eyes bore into his, hard as granite. All rebellious, Tony allowed his mouth to twitch with fake smugness, concealing the fact that their reunion had just started off on a disastrous note. “Ah, yes, Captain Stark, now that you mention it – the DoD is still exclusive with Stark Industries as its military contractor, no? What's the situation on the latest weapon's line?”

Commander Gordon's try for a red herring eventually prompted James Rhodes to chime in. Together they managed to take the topic away from the underlying tension between the former comrades, and over to technical and military small talk. 

Part of Tony listened to himself giving perfectly rehearsed Stark Industries drivel on what to expect for the upcoming years of aerial combat. The other, more subconscious part of him paid close attention to the way Bruce and Clark Kent behaved around each other.

When he paused to catch his breath in between bragging aloud for minutes on end, Bruce leaned over to the taller Kent and spoke a few, hushed words. As soon as the Captain had nodded, Wayne briefly glanced into the round, barely acknowledging Tony at that, and fixated his superior. “Commander, Lieutenant-Colonel, Captain – it's been a pleasure. Now, if you'll excuse me...”

His clipped way of speaking matched his steps as he pressed on through the crowd and disappeared where he had come from, up the stairs and to the left. Not long after Bruce's prompt departure, Clark Kent also took his leave, albeit a little more polite, and James Rhodes decided to save what was still left of their reputation. He then went and pulled a sullen Tony Stark along after saying goodbye to Commander Gordon.

Before he could go and bundle his best friend's hide into the designated air-freighter, Tony swerved into the direction of the restrooms, ignoring Rhodey's impatient dab at his chronograph. He got rid of perceived three liters of tonic water and coke before he rubbed washed hands on his trousers and left the latrines. The corridors stretched out to the left and the right, sparsely lit by the illumination from outside.

About to turn and head for the exit, Tony heard some far-flung sounds coming from down the alley behind him and looked over his shoulder. In the diffuse twilight, two lone silhouettes stood in the distance, unmindful of their secret observer. Quick to duck into the shadows near the wall, Tony identified them in a less than a second. He spent the remaining milliseconds wishing he had not.  
  
Bruce Wayne stood, braced against a banister amidst the corridor, hunched over and head hung low.   
Next to him, the imposing physique of Clark Kent had a hand on his back and was running it up and down in a comforting manner.  
Numb to the bone, Tony swung around and left the premises without so much of a look back.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Tony's lines are taken out of IM 1, some are from RDJs effing great screen test. Damn he gives me feels in that one.

_Iraq, February 1999_

_\------ February 2 nd \------Balad AB attacked at 0328 hours----- airstrike destroyed 7 hangars, 10 aircrafts, 1 air-freighter ------Pentagon informed------all surrounding bases on alert------30 wounded, 4 dead------list of casualties as follows..._  
  
  
Once James Rhodes got the intel right off the ticker, he knew he had to be the first to speak to his best friend. He found the mechanic engrossed in a brief team meeting with Coulson, Romanov, and Rogers, and lingered in the doorway long enough for Tony to notice him. Any quirky response that had been on Stark's lips died down once he saw his friend's grave expression.  
  
“What's wrong, Rhodey?”  
The Lieutenant-Colonel took a deep breath and made a move to clasp Tony's shoulder.  
Irritated Stark stepped back, brows deeply furrowed. His dark-brown eyes darted around James's face.

“Balad's been under attack last night.”  
Tony took a deep breath, then another one, and pulled the door to the meeting room shut.  
“Casualties?”

When Rhodes again took too long for an answer, Tony snatched the telex from his hand. He skimmed across the alphabetical register of soldiers, officers and ground personnel until he got to the very end. The paper crumpled in his fist. “I'm taking the next flight.” No sooner than that, Tony spun on his heel and left for his quarters. “They won't let you close to him – you're not family, Tony.”

“I'm the _closest fucking_ thing to family he's got round here!”

Stark's voice bellowed through the corridor as he strode away, kicking an innocent trashcan in his wake. The commotion prompted Natasha Romanov to stick her head out of the door, but the only thing she received was a shake of the head from the grim looking Lieutenant-Colonel.

+++

It was 2200 hours by the time Captain Stark had organized transportation from Al Asad to Balad air base.

Security levels were beyond high, but the whole base was still so much in a state of emergency that all Captain Stark had to do was flash his ID and scowl his way up to the Air Force Theater Hospital, a Level I trauma center known for its high survival rate of inpatients.

Once Tony had threatened and growled his way right through to CCU, he found none other than Clark Kent outside in the waiting room. The taller Captain stood up, shock written across square-jawed features, and saluted him. Tony dismissed him with an impatient wave of the hand.

“How, what, and how bad?”

Kent waited to see if the other man was about to take a seat. When Stark continued to pace along the sterile smelling room with its harsh neon lights, Clark sunk back down in his chair. With a huge exhale of breath, he looked at the floor. “He was inside one of the hangars when the bastards shelled the whole east wing. Got trapped underneath a metal beam, and by the time we got to him, he had inhaled a lot of smoke.”

The ground seemed to reel beneath him, so Tony claimed a seat two chairs away from Kent. “Will he be alright?” Clark raised his head and tried to lean back inside the cramped plastic chair, long limbs at an awkward angle. “All I've been told is he suffered severe smoke intoxication injuries. He's still in critical.” Tony's stomach gave a violent lurch. He leaned forward, elbows on thighs, and heaved a deep breath.

“He'll make it. I know him. He's a fighter.” His voice sounded strange and hollow to his own ears. Tony then pressed two fingers deep into his eye sockets and willed himself to keep it together in front of the man from Kansas. “Funny; he always said that about you, too.” The second Tony took away his fingers, he only saw colorful spectra. Some forceful blinking eventually got him to see straight once again.

He cocked his head, almost as if he misheard. “He spoke of me?” Upon his incredulous voice, Clark gave a small, rueful smile and looked down at the floor once again. “Not consciously, no.” At Stark's dumbfounded silence, Kent pursed his lips and made an indefinite gesture. “More like, in between the lines. Sometimes in his sleep. It was... all very vague, though.”

He added the last part upon seeing the slight beacon of terror flicker over Stark's countenance.

The arrival of a surgeon cut their strangled conversation short, and both Captains rose from their chairs. Major James Eadie greeted them and spoke in brief, clipped sentences, basically confirming Kent's previous information. Bruce Wayne had received significant exposure to toxic smokes and was about to be observed for the upcoming 48 hours; the first twelve with no visitors to the CCU.

About fifteen hours later, in which Tony and Clark had been taking turns in napping and organizing snacks and coffee, a nurse informed them Bruce finally was stable. Even if the dark circles under Kent's eyes were a tad bigger, he was generous enough to grant Tony to go in first. With a slight stagger and a thumping heart, Captain Stark rose to his feet and followed the nurse into the secluded medical section.

It physically hurt Tony when he saw the battered body of his friend for the first time. Bruce Wayne lay surrounded by and attached to various IV's, machines and endotracheal tubes for cardiac monitoring and supplemental oxygen in the setting of hypoxia. A large area of his upper body was covered in gauze, the first degree burns and broken ribs he had suffered hidden from view.

Tony's eyes started to brim and he sniffed the threatening tears away as he sat down by the bedside and regarded the pale countenance. In a way the Gothamite had been lucky; an angry red welt on the side of his face was all the damage the flames had done above the neck. “Hey, buddy, it's me. Who told ya it's okay to scare me like that?”

Nothing except constant beeping filled the small, white room with its strong, medical smell. Finding the sound unnerving at first, Tony soon took comfort from it. It meant Bruce lived; would continue to live, and would get well again. At least that was what Captain Stark tried to tell himself.

“Please don't leave me. I don't know what to do without you. I promise we'll work this out, but you have to open those beautiful eyes of yours and look at me first. Look at me and tell me you'll come back. Will you? Bruce...?”  
  
Tony rubbed his aching eyes and shifted on the uncomfortable chair. All of a sudden, the tears were there, against his will, and he wiped them away with a sleeve, angry. “Fuck, this ain't about me. S'okay when you don't wanna come back to me specifically, I mean, I know I fucked us up real good. You deserve better. You deserve anything, as long as you just wake up and tell me you'll be fine. It's all I need to know.”

He swallowed and leaned in closer to his ex-lover, but the young Gothamite did not move an inch. Careful with the IV inside the back of Bruce's hand, Tony slipped his free hand under the motionless palm and stroked the younger man's knuckles with his thumb, hating how very cold and lifeless they felt.

“Even if it doesn't matter to you anymore – I still love you. Never stopped. So... there.”

+++

At some point, Bruce's mind began to dwindle from an abyss of heavy pain medication into a semi-conscious state. Feeling a deadweight on his lungs and thorax, he tried to breathe as careful and shallow as possible and forced his eyelids open. He saw nothing but blurred bright and dark spots and was about to give up; exertion too big to overcome. Before he drifted off again, there was distant murmuring from above.

“Padre Nostro, che sei nei cieli, Sia santificato il tuo nome. Venga il tuo regno, Sia fatta la tua volontá, Come in cielo, così in terra...“

The foreign words seemed to echo inside his head but eventually got through his jumbled thoughts. Senses alerted him of something warm and soft that was touching his left hand. His own, distorted breathing was loud in his ears and he could not open his mouth, but then the voice returned a little closer to his left.

“... Bruce? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, buddy.”  
When long, elegant fingers twitched inside his, Tony made a noise between a laugh and a sob.  
“Alright, everything's going to be alright, you'll be alright. I'm here. I'm here, babe. You just rest.”

It was the first time Tony had used his nickname in over a year. The ease with which it slipped from his tongue, and the fact that Bruce's fingers ever so slightly moved a second time within his gave Tony new-found hope. As soundless as he had entered, Clark Kent backed out again, pretending not to have seen the gentle kiss Stark pressed upon Bruce's temple.

+++

Tony spent the upcoming week in a haze, staying at Bruce's side at all costs. It was none other than Clark Kent who coaxed him into sleeping in Wayne's quarters and managed to settle differences between Captain Stark and the hospital's staff, who did not permit for anybody to spend the nights over at the critical care unit whatsoever.

Eventually, Tony led a heated discussion over the pay phone down the corridor with his own Lieutenant-Colonel. “Fuck it Tones, if you're not back to base by tomorrow, Fury's gonna put you on AWOL!”  
  
Only when Bruce had been taken off most machines and got moved to a single bedroom, Tony caved in and returned to Al Asad. Running on little sleep and feeling like the past days had taken a huge toll on him, he went into 'offense is the best defense' mode. Much to his surprise, James Rhodes spared him a lengthy lecture. Instead, he made Tony sign and file a dozen DA forms to make sure he knew what AR 630-10 stood for.

As soon as they were done and Rhodes was quick to dismiss him, Tony narrowed his eyes at his friend's peculiar ways. He then began to tap both ends of the pen in a steady motion upon the desk. “Oookay. Stop. What's with that look 'o yours, Rhodey? What is it you're not tellin' me here?” James Rhodes palmed his chin and shook his head. Tony stood up. “Listen, I speak to Fury. If I gotcha into trouble, I'll work it out with Eyepatch."

Dark brown eyes locked with his. There was a distressed look on the Lieutenant-Colonel's face. “Don't do that, Tones. Don't do... anything. Right now. It's more complicated than you think, okay? Just make sure to keep it down a notch for the upcoming time. Whatever you'll hear.” The last part got stuck inside Tonys' mind. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Okay now. You've got ten seconds to spill the truth. After that, I'll burst into Fury's office and ask him myself.” Upon the vexed countenance of his friend, Rhodes exhaled and placed his palms flat on the desktop. Tony mentally braced himself for anything; for the worst he could imagine and was yet completely thrown off guard when Rhodey eventually spoke, albeit after an eerie silence.

“The weapons used in the airstrike against Balad were from Stark Industries, Tony. I'm... sorry.”  
  
Contrary to his initial belief, Tony did not throw up on Rhodey's desk. He saved it for after he had stumbled out of the office. There, he turned around a deserted corner and retched for minutes; kneeling within the hot sands on the ground, arms shaking under him.

+++

Whenever Bruce was done getting his daily treatments, including inhalation with humidified oxygen, bronchoscopy and chest physiotherapy, he was completely and utterly exhausted. Ten days after the incident, when he finally managed to stay awake for longer periods of time, people started to visit him; people like Clark of course, and at some point even Colonel Cote.

Seeing Bruce had risked his life by getting into the hangar during the attack and gotten two locked-in ground control members into safety, his superior held out the prospect of accelerated promotion. Despite the generous words, Wayne also knew what Cote was not telling. The longer he was bound to the bed, running on decreased lung volume and capacity, the clearer it was to realize his days as jet fighter pilot were doomed.

Not wanting to appear ungrateful, Bruce had therefore simply voiced his thanks and told the Colonel he would think about the how and where to put his services to use in the foreseeable future. When he was all alone again, listening to the wheezing sounds of the respiratory machine as it was strapped over his mouth and nose, Bruce's thoughts went back to Tony, like they did most of the time.

Bits and pieces of his ragged memory started to bubble to the surface, leaving him to doubt if he had just made some or most of them up. Memories like the feel of Tony's hand around his, his lips on his forehead, the smell of his aftershave. Sounds like faint music from a faraway radio station, a tinny version of 'Purple Rain'. The mechanic's deep, familiar baritone whispering affectionate things; warm breath on his ear.

A sigh attempted to worm its way over Wayne's lips, hindered by the tightly sealed oxygen mask. Infuriated, Bruce took out a hand from underneath the blanket, slipped the mask off and threw it aside. His heedless action got punished by an arising asthma attack soon after, and he turned his head sideways to hack into the pillow.

During his coughing fit, Bruce failed to notice the footsteps nearing his bedside at first. “Easy there, champ. Here, let me.” Through the haze of watering eyes, he saw a blurry figure. Gentle fingers then pressed the respirator back upon his face, and Bruce took a few, deep breaths.

Once his condition had settled, he blinked upwards into the face of Tony Stark, laced with worry and concern. Their fingers touched when Bruce urged him to take away the tubular machinery once more, to be able to talk. His visitor then took the vacant chair aside.

“Tony.”

It came out more of a wheeze than anything and angered Bruce beyond belief. Large brown eyes graced him with mild reproach, but also full of undiminished devotion. “I'm gone couple'a days and you're already misbehaving round here? This thing's supposed to stay on, y'know.” Bruce bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood. “I fucking hate this. I hate all of this here! I'm never gonna get well again.”  
  
With eyes glued to the blanket, he missed the look of pure misery on Tony's expressive countenance. Stark then cleared his throat. “Don't say that, Bats. It's hardly been two weeks and they said you're making really good progress.” A spiteful, derisive snort was his answer when Wayne inspected his hands. Hands which would never grasp an F-16 steering throttle again, for the rest of his life.

“Whom are we kidding? Let's face it - I'm not about to return to military service like this.”  
Instead of the big, incredulous scene he would have expected from Tony, the latter remained calm.  
“How convenient – that makes two of us then.”

Hazel eyes snapped up, assured he had just misheard. “What are _you_ talking about?” Bruce mustered him like some sort of lunatic to which Tony scrunched up the side of his face and made a clicking noise with his tongue. When Tony then wanted to back out, Bruce's hand was on his wrist.

“I need to take care of things back home. Handed in my resignation as of this morning.” Bruce's eyes darted in between his, looking for a possible underlying joke. There was none. “Fuck it, you cannot just 'resign' from the air force, Tony, what the hell is wrong with you?” The Captain scraped the chair back with a violent, quick motion, rose, and turned around.

“Somebody is selling Stark Industries weapons under the table. They were... used at Balad.”  
  
Never before had Tony's voice been so monotone, yet held so much disgust at the same time. Bruce stared at his hunched back for at least half a minute. When Tony turned back around, he was pinching his eyes with thumb and index finger and lowered his head. “Weapons my company built are being used to kill innocent people. That needs to stop. Now.”

Something akin to mock-indignation scurried over Wayne's features, but Stark missed out on it. “You're a humanitarian now or something? Iron, you've been in the Air Force for almost ten years now. You've shot down more enemies than you can count. The occasional casualties are part of the deal. Shit like that happens, probably more often than you'll ever know.” At that, a humorless laugh found its way across the Captain's lips.

Tony then nodded, to Bruce and to himself, and began to walk from one corner of the room to the other like a tiger behind bars.

“You know what? I was so fucking naïve when they said: 'Go on boy, do your thing in the USAF, make daddy and your country proud - we'll take care of business. Of course, there's a line that we don't cross. Don't worry.' But... and there's this huge, fucking 'but' here, Bats, capital B: lf the company that has my name written outside their damn buildings is double-dealing under the table, I won't be sitting on the sidelines any longer!”

Bruce suppressed another cough that wanted to worm its way up his lungs and listened on. Tony eventually stopped pacing the comfortable hospital room and came to rest at the foot of the bed. He gripped the metal bars tight and stared down at Bruce's blanket-covered legs.

“I never got to say goodbye to my father, Bruce. There's questions I'd have asked him. I would have asked him how he felt about what this company did. If he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts. Or, maybe he was every inch the man we all remember from the newsreels. But now young Americans are getting killed by the very weapons his company created to defend and protect them. How fucked up is this, Bruce? How fucked up am I?”

Wordless Bruce motioned for him to come closer, and Tony complied without objection. After he flopped into the chair by the bedside, he put his elbows up on the mattress and hid his face behind his palms. Bruce's mouth was twisted in a mixture of disapproval for Tony's self-imposed blaming, and because of the dull, constant pain in his chest.

“You didn't _know_ , Tony. It's not like it's your fault! You cannot take the blame for that!” With a heaving sigh, the dark-haired Captain buried his head into the crook of Bruce's arm. His fingers slipped underneath the younger man's torso with care, seeking warmth and contact.

“Goddammit - YOU could've been killed, too! How would I've ever been able to live with myself at that, huh, tell me that!? Might as well gone and pulled the trigger myself, and.. I... Ah, fuckin hell!”

Bruce let him rant on until Tony's muffled voice just kept on repeating profane curses. Wayne then ran his fingers through the thick, wavy hair in reassuring circles. “I'm not that easy to get rid of. Think I've just proven that quite clearly.” A desperate sounding noise erupted from where Tony was still hiding his face. “And yet I let you slip away from me.” The Gothamite swallowed, only to clear his throat immediately afterward.

“I wanted to hate you, I really did. For months and months.” Unshed tears glistened in Tony's eyes as he raised his head to look at his former boyfriend. Bruce kept his gaze straight ahead upon the big clock on the wall and continued speaking. “At some point, however, I realized that would lead me nowhere. So I moved on."

The mattress moved when Tony started to pull out his flat palms from underneath him in slow motion.  
With a deep sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and stood up, dejection visible in his stance and on his features.  
“Of course, fair enough.”

From the corner of his eyes, Bruce got aware how Tony made a move to snatch his jacket off the small table in the corner. Before he was able to say something, Tony faced him again. “At least you got yourself an upgrade there. He's a real good guy, even though I...” Words failed his usual glib-tongued persona, and Tony stared at the floor for a moment, eyebrows drawn together.

When he found Bruce's eyes again, Tony tried to muster up a smile and made a dismissive gesture.

“... I wanna kill him with my bare hands for having what I can't.”

Confused at the sudden turn their conversation had taken, and still riddled by medication, Bruce sat up straight in bed. “Wait, what...” The oxygen mask fell down to the ground with a clatter, but a cough interrupted him, so Bruce pointed his arm at Tony and motioned for him to stop. Jacket still clenched tight between his fingers, Stark busied himself by picking up the respirator and placing it aside on the nightstand.

Bruce then fought down his coughing fit enough to be able to finish his sentence. “... the fuck is this going to be?” He squinted upwards and relented to easing back into the pillows. His friend shuffled on his feet and ran his free hand through his hair. It had been ages since Bruce had seen Tony Stark so utterly self-conscious; if ever. “I'm backing out so you two can finally be happy, get well and... y'know.”

Realization dawned on the Gothamite. No split second later, a lopsided smirk wormed its way across Wayne's tired face. He made an unmistakeable come hither gesture with his index finger to which Tony slid back on the chair. After Bruce had taken two careful sips of water, he cleared his throat. “This is about Clark, I reckon?” At the mention of Kent's name, Tony's brow furrowed further and he gave a stubborn, brief nod.

“You're right, he really is a good friend...” Bruce left the rest of his sentence up in the air. Something between a sigh and snort escaped Tony's lips. “And he doesn't even mind me being here, how fucking precious. In his place, I know I would've never...” All of a sudden, long cool fingers grasped for his, almost making Tony jump with surprise. “... but he's just that. A good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Dark brown eyes darted from their entwined hands over to Bruce guarded countenance and back multiple times.

Tony then put his jacket aside and encased Bruce's hand carefully within both of his.  
  
“Can I still fix this? Us?”  
The younger man regarded the sturdy, well-known fingers and pursed his lips.  
“You _are_ a mechanic, right? Isn't that what you do?”

Wordless, Tony pressed a gentle kiss inside Bruce's palm. Wayne's fingers then cupped his cheek, and Tony leaned over to place a tender kiss upon his lips for the first time in over a year. Seeing that it got Bruce to breathe more erratic, he was quick to withdraw, however, and urged him on to take a few breaths from the respirator once more. They held eye contact until the Gothamite felt stable.

“It's gonna take a while to do this without me requiring an oxygen tent afterward.”

The Tony Stark who now sat in front of him only smiled at Bruce's halfhearted jibe, his whole demeanor changed from utter defeat to utter happiness. “I'm going to take care of you, babe, best way I can. Once we're back home, you'll get the best medical care available. And in no time, _Imma_ be the only thing leaving you breathless.” Rolling his eyes at Stark's impossible ways, Wayne could not help but to grin along.

“At least your big ego's still intact. Lucky me. So what's the plan, oh great Captain Stark?”

Bruce pulling rank made Tony think back upon the gravity of the situation. All serious, he bent forward, grasped Bruce's hand in his again and wet his lips. “Come with me. If SI has apparently become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability, I need the most trustworthy person by my side I can have. That's you.”

Not knowing whether he should be embarrassed, flattered or both, Bruce tried for rationality. “Uh-huh. And then what? Live off disability benefits? Work a desk job? Like hell.” Stark rolled his eyes at Wayne's youth- and wrongful assumptions. “Oh, please. You happen to forget I'm a rich brat. Don't tell me I got no sugar daddy potential.”

The true reason Bruce Wayne had to smirk at exactly that point would remain a mystery to Tony Stark for some more time. Right there and then, the Gothamite eventually nodded along. “Mhm. Well, let's see about that. Under one condition though.” It earned him a curious glance, to which Bruce only curled his lips and raised his eyebrows. “We'll take a brief detour before going to New York. I want to show you something.”

+++

Mid-March, Tony saved his very last visit to Al Asad for his best friend after telling everybody else goodbye days before.

Despite the fact his belongings had already been packed up and shipped via air cargo, James Rhodes made a final attempt in changing Captain Stark's mind. “You don't know what you're going to deal with. It's complicated.” Tony's large brown eyes bore into his. His voice shuddered when he found the right words. “Is it? Not for me. I can make a choice – I can still fight for what's right!”

James shook his head, unable to find the proper words to put some sense into his friend. Tony then raised his chin in defiance and fixated him with an intense glare. “Tell me Rhodey, if you were me, could you stand aside and let it happen? Could you live with yourself if you did? I know you...” The Lieutenant-Colonel chose to stay silent when Tony stared right down into his soul.

Eventually, Stark wet his lips and tilted his head, validated. “... yeah, that's right. You'd do somethin about it, too.” Different emotions warred on James Rhodes' face. Tony put a hand upon his shoulder. “I'm not crazy, Rhodey. I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart it's right.” The longtime friends shared a quiet moment before the black man looked up and nodded.

“Good luck, Tones, I really mean it. Call me when you're all settled in.”

Their final embrace was short but nonetheless heartfelt. Captain Tony Stark then shouldered his last bag and stepped aboard the air-freighter with an air of confidence; about to head into a new world full of trials and tribulations so different from the wars he had fought for in the past.

A few weeks before his 29th birthday, he left all of it behind.

 

_~epilogue~_

  
Two warm, callused hands found themselves around his shoulders from behind.

The person leaning against the headrest smirked but did not turn or look up. Instead, he continued to scrape the pen across the paper in his lap. A warm breath then reached his ear. "You better not be writin' love letters to someone else, I'm a horribly jealous person." He finally raised his cheek and was promptly rewarded with a beard-stubbled kiss to it.

"Wouldn't I know.”

After four more weeks, Wayne's cracked ribs had healed for the most part, and the burns on his face and torso had eventually disappeared without leaving permanent damage. However, despite his continuous work with specially trained physicians and respiratory therapists, Bruce's voice had not gotten back to the way it used to be.

Even if he managed to get rid of constant coughs and only got mild asthma attacks when he overstressed himself, difficulties in hitting certain vocal ranges prevailed. They turned his speech into an oftentimes deep, throaty growl when he tried for low-pitched accords. Ever the cheeky one, Tony was turned on the very first time he experienced it firsthand, and immediately labeled it 'Bruce's sexy bedroom voice'.

Giving his shoulders a final squeeze, Tony released him and scampered up on the mattress. Sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, he began to put up the chess board for their nightly match on the small folding table. Bruce had been making progress in winning more often, but still suspected Tony to lose by choice just so the latter could enjoy the moment of joy on his face.

Newly promoted Captain Bruce Wayne was quick to finish his letter.  
  
He sealed the envelope tight and threw it onto the nightstand before he joined his lover for another match.

 

_Iraq, March 1999_

_Dear Alfred,_

_Got your birthday card last month, thanks a lot. As matters stand, I'm heading back to the States in a week, seeing my tour officially ends around here. And this time, I really want to come home for a while. I'll be in Gotham on the 25th, maybe you can pick me up from the airport. I won't be coming alone, however, it's time for you to meet someone special._

_His name is Tony._

_Best,_ _  
_Bruce__

 

**FIN**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big, big thank you to everybody who took the time to read, gave kudos and/or commented - your support means more than you know!


End file.
